


A True Princess

by theladyrainbow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar lives, Arya loves Sansa so much that she hates Jon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gendry is adorable, Jon Is A Southern Prince, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Rhaenys is mean, Sansa Is A Northern Lady, Viserys is a good older brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyrainbow/pseuds/theladyrainbow
Summary: The beautiful and dutiful Lady Sansa Stark is sent to King's Landing to marry Prince Jon Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne. It's a long way from betrothed to walking down the aisle at the Great Sept of Baelor, and the capital is just full of surprises and adventure for these two! Oh, to be young, noble, and free in a peaceful Westeros!Chapters are in a non-chronological order.





	1. Princess Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful and dutiful Lady Sansa Stark is sent to King's Landing to marry Prince Jon Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne. She misses the North terribly, but tries to adapt to the ways of the South. Unfortunately, a tight corset, a heatwave, and a princess determined to make her feel inferior might be too much for the Winter Rose. 
> 
> Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written a fanfic in YEARS. 
> 
> This is a fluff piece inspired by Kiera Knightley’s movie The Duchess; there was a line there about how noble ladies used fashion to express themselves in an otherwise oppressive, patriarchal environment. 
> 
> So in this story, there is no Battle of the Trident or Robert’s Rebellion. Rhaegar ascended the throne peacefully, and Rhaenys is the eldest child with Elia dying after giving birth to a stillborn Aegon. Not long after, Rhaegar married Lyanna and gave birth to Jon. Jon is raised in the South and has never been to Winterfell. 
> 
> Bitch Rhaenys and Sassy Septa Mordane just to add a little spice, of course.

Sansa always did her best to be obedient and dutiful. 

When she was 9 and her betrothal to Prince Jon Targaryen was announced, she did not cry. Instead, she curtsied and thanked her Lord Father and Lady Mother for negotiating an excellent match for her. They patted her cheek and told her she would make an excellent princess and an even better queen. 

7 years later, King Rhaegar sent a raven from King’s Landing on what should have been Aegon’s 20th nameday had the prince not been stillborn and his mother Elia not died birthing him. 

The King requested that since the lady was now 16 and her betrothed 18, the time was now right for her to travel to King’s Landing and take her place as a crown princess. They would be wed sometime next year, with their coronations shortly after. 

She would miss her family terribly, but she reminded herself that she would be seeing them again shortly before the wedding. Her mother pushed gowns and silks on her hands, reciting House Tully’s words and telling Sansa to always be respectful and kind—not that the lady needed a reminder. 

Her father told her how proud he was of her, and that he looked forward to walking her down the aisle in the Sept of Baelor. She resisted the urge to demand that she be wed in a Godswood—even if it wasn’t the Godswood she grew up with. 

She embraced her older brother Robb when he actively protested the summons, claiming that his sister was too young to be sent away. She cooed at her younger sister Arya when she railed alongside Robb, running through the halls of Winterfell demanding that the Prince travel here and fight her with a sword. She demurely accepted little Bran’s offer to become her sworn shield when he was older, and she gracefully received the little winter roses from Rickon’s tiny fists. 

King’s Landing welcomed Lady Sansa of House Stark with open arms and great expectations. 

Her aunt, The Queen Lyanna, doted on the young Winter Rose. She encouraged her niece to develop her love of learning, weaving, and other ladylike pursuits. The King was enamored with her excellent harp playing and intelligent cyvasse skills. 

The Princess Daenerys was a lovely companion, but their friendship was cut short due to the fact that the princess needed to follow Prince Viserys to Dragonstone. It was clear that the princess idolized her older brother, and from what Sansa heard, the prince spoiled his younger sister. 

Sansa was jealous that the pair would get to travel across the Narrow Sea, but she did not complain. After all, Daenerys had promised to write often so she would have to settle for that. She also had much to be grateful for—she was just a Northern lady soon to be raised to the station of a princess, after all. 

Just a lady. 

Princess Rhaenys liked to remind her of that. With Daenerys gone, Rhaenys liked to say that she was now the only princess in the Red Keep. 

Rhaenys was never directly unkind to her, after all, when noble ladies disliked each other, they showed it through other means —she was often snide, and a bit of a show-off. Sansa supposed that the King allowed her behavior because he still felt guilt over the loss of his first wife and would-be heir. 

Rhaenys liked to tease Sansa with backhanded comments, and Sansa, dutiful as ever, could only nod and accept them. Sometimes she’d hit back with a retort, but most often she let the Princess say whatever she wanted. 

In the beginning, the Princess would often criticize her way of dress and the style of her hair, because as much as she quickly adapted to the Southern way of living, she still wanted to keep a little piece of North with her. 

But the Princess’s words reminded her of her duty. If she was to be a Queen that ruled in the South, she needed to look like a Southern Queen. So she hid away her Northern clothes and braids. Her Septa and maids started to put her in tight corsets, tucking her away in endless ribbons and layers of silk and damask. Her hair was heated, curled, and wound tightly around her head. 

She looked beautiful, and so Southern that sometimes she tried not to cry herself to sleep. She reminded herself that at least the color of her hair could still provide her a piece of home—the Wildlings beyond the Wall called it Kissed by Fire. 

Sansa also had another piece of the North with her. 

Her betrothed was…something. 

Jon was silent, and she reminded Sansa so much of her own Lord Father. He was good with a sword, and excellent on horseback. Rhaegar often complimented him on his work and studies as a prince, and Sansa knew that Jon took his duties seriously. 

She and Jon had spent an appropriate amount of time together, always with a chaperone of course. She enjoyed the Prince’s company—he would regale her with stories of courtiers, tell her about the fearsome bones of dragons displayed on the walls, and occasionally, he would give her trinkets and flowers. 

Even though he was busy with his duties, he always seemed to find time in for her—even if it was only for a few minutes on some days. He often rescued her from Rhaenys’s company often and sometimes they’d sit together and read letters that Daenerys and Viserys sent, regaling them with tales of majestic Khalasars, the shining walls of Qarth, and the exotic marketplaces of Mereen. 

She wrote to her family often. She had a steady promise from her brother that he would ride out to King’s Landing anytime she’d want him to. Arya wrote that she had been learning how to use a sword so that she could fight the prince during the wedding tourney. Bran might start to squire soon, and Rickon had already ridden his first pony. 

How she missed them. 

\--

It was a hot, hot day. It was always hot in King’s Landing, but today seemed to take it to an extreme. Septa Mordane was helping her practice The Dance of the Summer’s Moon, a traditional dance often performed in festivals—and since it would be midsummer soon, she and the other noble ladies would have a chance to perform it in a theatrical that King Rhaegar was arranging. 

“Arch your back more, my lady!” Septa Mordane said as she strummed on the harp. 

Sansa did as told, bending her back so that it arched prettily. She winced as the binding on her corset hit a sore spot in her waist. 

“Smile! You have to smile!” Septa Mordane called. 

Sansa dutifully bared her teeth in a lovely smile, but from the look in her eyes, she was clearly in pain. The sweltering heat, combined with the fact that her maid had wound the ribbons in her dress extra tight today, did nothing to ease her discomfort. 

The dance was unlike any of the soft steps she had learned in the North. This dance was fast, required a lot of arm movement, and her feet were already aching from tiptoeing too much. 

“Turn twice…” Septa Mordane instructed. 

Sansa stood on her toes and spun, causing the thick knot on the ribbon of her dress to dig into her back. Before she could balance herself, she yelped and fell on her front. Thankfully, her arms shielded her from what could have been a much more disgraceful fall. 

Septa Mordane raced to her side, fanning her with a feathered fan to help cool her heated form. The Septa fussed, but Sansa gently waved her off. 

Suddenly, the sound of clapping was heard and Sansa’s face pooled red with embarrassment. She resisted the urge to bury her head on the floor. As gracefully as she could, she stood up and brushed the dirt from her blue skirt. She patted her bright red hair to make sure it was still well kept before facing the door. 

Princess Rhaenys. 

Sansa instinctively curtsied while the Princess smirked at her. 

“You’ll certainly be the talk of the festival, Lady Sansa.” Rhaenys chuckled. Sansa blushed. 

“I…I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.” Sansa murmured. Rhaenys clucked her tongue and walked over to Sansa. 

“Really? How long have you been practicing this?” Rhaenys asked. 

“The Princess has—“ Septa Mordane tried to intervene but Rhaenys sneered at her. 

“She is not a princess yet.” Rhaenys snapped. 

“Septa Mordane was just trying to get me used to my future title, Princess Rhaenys. She meant no disrespect.” Sansa tried to placate the princess. 

“Ah, so this was your idea, trying to get everyone to call you princess while you’re still not married to my brother?” Rhaenys goaded Sansa into a fight, but Sansa respectfully stayed silent. 

“It’s a long way from here to the aisle, dear sister.” Rhaenys sneered, patting Sansa on the cheek in a condescending manner. 

“Yes, and I still have much to practice.” Sansa carefully said. 

“I have been hearing the tune of that dance from this room for days, Sansa. If you can’t get it right now, what makes you think you’ll be ready for the festival?” Rhaenys asked. Sansa blushed to her roots. 

“The Lady Sansa has already perfected that dance a few days ago, your grace. She simply wanted to try it again but simply made an error. Nevertheless, she has done very well in her lessons.” Septa Mordane said. 

“It’s not a difficult dance.” Rhaenys rolled her eyes. “Make sure to stand in the back, then.” 

“I will stand wherever the dance master instructs me to.” Sansa said, trying to stand up for herself. Sansa was a lady from the North, she was respectful, but she was not a pushover. She had Stark steel and she was not afraid to show it from time to time.

“What did you say?” Rhaenys seethed. 

“Rhaenys, what are you doing here?” 

All eyes snapped to the door. Sansa gulped, it was her betrothed. 

He looked a bit dirty—Sansa guessed he must have come from training. He was holding a letter in his hand, still sealed. 

Prince Jon’s eyes held fury, and had they been directed at her, she would have called on Lady and hightailed it back to the North with her wolf with not a moment to spare. But Jon’s gray eyes were narrowed at Rhaenys’s violet ones. 

Rhaenys straightened her back and looked at her brother. 

“Oh hello little brother. I was finished with my lessons and wanted to see how my sister was doing.” Rhaenys said with a fake smile. Jon didn’t buy it. 

“Your room is in the other end of the castle. What are you really doing here in this study?” Jon pressed, walking over to her. Jon was tall and broad shouldered, towering over the two ladies. Rhaenys flinched, but did not waver. 

“Looking for company.” Rhaenys rolled her eyes. 

“Father told you to stop interrupting Princess Sansa’s lessons.” Jon growled out. Sansa blinked at the use of the word Princess. Rhaenys grit her teeth. 

Sansa could sense the tension, and she feared this might escalate given that the two had tempers of their own, so she took a step forward and tried to abate the situation. 

“Princess Rhaenys was merely offering criticism, your grace. I was erroneous in practicing for a dance and she corrected me.” Sansa said. Rhaenys smirked. Jon shook his head. 

“Sansa doesn’t need your criticism, Rhaenys. According to father, all of Princess Sansa’s tutors have constantly praised her—which is more than I can say for you.” Jon said in a calm, unnerving voice that reminded her too much of her father when he was angry. 

“They’re lying!” Rhaenys seethed. “How dare you—“ 

“If I hear of you doing this again, I swear to the Gods, Rhaenys, I will intervene and tell father to pull you out of the festival dance and send you off to foster in the Iron Islands. He is not pleased with your actions these past few weeks, especially towards Sansa.” Jon growled out, looking Rhaenys in the eye. 

Rhaenys fumed but stayed silent. 

“Is that understood?” Jon pressed. 

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes at Jon and considered his threat. Stomping her foot, she huffed and stormed out. 

Sansa let out a breath she did not know she had been holding when Rhaenys slammed the door behind her. Septa Mordane sighed and gently fanned her again with the feathered fan. 

“Thank you for interfering, your grace, who knows what would have happened if you didn’t get here on time.” Septa Mordane muttered as she fanned Sansa. Sansa sighed and put her hands together, looking down at the floor. 

“I am sorry you had to witness that, Prince Jon.” Sansa murmured. “I’m sure you had other things to do…” 

“It is no problem.” Jon said. “I was done with training anyway and I wanted to tell you that I received a letter from Robb today.” Jon pushed the letter onto her hands. 

A gentle breeze blew across them, causing Septa Mordane to look out into the sweltering hot gardens. She frowned and stopped fanning. 

“I will get some refreshments. It’s a hot day today and The Lady Sansa still isn’t used to the Southern heat.” She said, handing the fan unceremoniously to Prince Jon. 

“I am fine, Septa…” Sansa trailed off. 

“No, you are not. This heat wave has caused your lightheadedness, probably what made you fall earlier. I will be back.” Septa Mordane said, exiting the room. 

Sansa did not have the courage to tell Septa Mordane that it was the tight lacing and corset that caused her fall. She could not understand why Southern women favored these tight styles. In the North, they had no time to finery like that—it was too cold. Besides, if the goal of a corset were to make a woman’s waist appear smaller, it would be of no use in the North since the lady would be covered up in furs anyway. 

Jon led her to a chaise next to the window and sat down beside her. 

“Would you like to read the letter?” Jon asked. 

“It is addressed to you.” Sansa said, confused. 

“I know, but it’s from your brother.” Jon insisted. 

“We’ll read it together.” Sansa said. Gently, she broke the seal and started to read the letter. 

She was halfway through Robb’s letter when Jon started fanning her with Septa Mordane’s fan. 

“Prince Jon…you don’t have to…” She said, gently taking the fan from him. 

“But Septa Mordane said the heat…I mean, this isn’t the North…” Jon mumbled, flushed. 

“The Septa was exaggerating.” Sansa murmured as she finished the letter. “It seems everything is well back home.” 

“Your sister still doesn’t like me, I presume.” Jon grumbled. Sansa laughed, and Jon’s breath hitched the way it always did when he heard that twinkling sound. 

“She will warm up to you, I promise, once she sees you in the practice yard with your sword, she’ll look up to you and you won’t be able to get rid of her.” Sansa said. Jon shook his head. 

“In her mind, I’ll always be the brute who took her perfect sister away.” Jon sighed. 

“I cannot wait for them to meet you.” Sansa smiled. 

An awkward silence followed. Sansa started gently fanning herself with Septa’s fan. 

“Sansa…how often does Rhaenys bother you?” Jon asked. Sansa snapped the fan shut and sighed. 

“During my lessons?” She asked. 

“No…I mean…I know she sometimes talks down to you…it’s not just in your lessons, is it?” Jon asked. 

Sansa sighed. She did not want Rhaenys and Jon to fight. 

“The Princess Rhaenys shows me what a Southern Princess is supposed to be like.” Sansa carefully said. 

“Rhaenys is not a good example of a princess, Sansa. Daenerys, maybe. But you are a better princess than Rhaenys.” Jon insisted. Sansa shook her head. 

“I am not a princess yet.” She whispered. 

“You already are. The whole castle—everyone in this city adores you. Rhaenys is only jealous that everyone likes you better than they like her.” Jon grumbled. 

“That is not true.” Sansa sighed. “Rhaenys is well beloved.” 

“Does Rhaenys give bread to the poor once a week? Does Rhaenys know her maid’s first name?” Jon asked. 

Sansa blushed. She had no idea Jon noticed these little things about her. It made her like him even more. 

When Jon realized that Sansa wasn’t going to answer to that—she was too humble and demure to do so, he decided to steer the conversation another way. 

“Your dress…it’s pretty.” He said. Sansa looked up at him. 

“Thank you. It is a gift from The Queen.” Sansa smiled. 

“It is unlike your other dresses.” Jon observed. Sansa’s smile fell and Jon yearned to know what he said wrong. 

“It is a more appropriate dress for the South.” Sansa said, running her fingers over the jewels encrusted in her bodice.  
“Your Northern dresses are prettier…you can still wear the lighter ones here.” Jon said. 

“Yes, but I am to be Southern Princess. I must dress that way, and style my hair that way.” Sansa said, wincing as she turned her head. The pins were digging into her scalp and she grit her teeth. 

“That’s not true.” Jon said.

Sansa turned to him and the jeweled pin in her hair dug on her scalp even more. When she raised her arm to adjust it, the ribbon in her corset yanked at her skin. Suddenly, she felt lightheaded. She looked to the window for a breeze, but none came. Beads of sweat started forming on her head. 

She reached for her fan, but felt her stomach tighten from the corset’s bindings. 

Jon reached for her arms, but the last Sansa could see was white before she fainted and crumbled down. 

Jon thanked his fast reflexes as he caught Sansa by the waist before she fell to the floor. He shook her, calling her name but she was unresponsive. He stood from the chaise and laid her down, fanning her with the Septa’s fan. When she was still unresponsive, he quickly ran over to the door, only to be met by Septa Mordane opening it, carrying a jug of juice. 

The juice fell to the floor. 

Septa Mordane took one look at the scene and gasped in horror. 

“What happened?” She cried, looking at Jon accusingly. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing! Princess Sansa fainted…I had no idea…the heat maybe…” Jon rambled, suddenly afraid. Septa Mordane put a hand up to silence him. 

She quickly ran over to Sansa and checked her temperature. Jon could only stand awkwardly behind her as Septa Mordane prodded her ward. The Septa felt Sansa’s waist and muttered under her breath. 

“Is she going to be alright?” Jon asked, his heart beating fast. Was it his fault? He wanted to go to his father immediately and report the situation. No, he wanted to race to the North and kneel before Ned Stark, beg for forgiveness for not taking better care of the delicate Winter Rose they had graciously given to him as a betrothed. So many things raced across his mind that he did not notice Septa Mordane standing up and making her way to the door.

“Where are you going? What about the princess?” Jon demanded. 

“I’m going to call a Maester. It’s just as I suspected, her corset was wound much more tightly today. I was against her wearing a corset in the first place—she’s still not used to the ways of the South. Unlace her sashes while I call the Maester.” Septa Mordane quickly said. 

“What? Me? I can’t! It would be improper! I don’t know how to…I can’t…I…” Jon spluttered as he flushed. 

“You don’t know? None of your tutors have taught you how to unlace a lady’s corset?” Septa Mordane demanded. Jon immediately remembered Uncle Oberyn and Tyrion Lannister (the most well read men in the Seven Kingdoms apart from Domeric Bolton, mind you) taking him to a brothel a year ago and teaching him…unspeakable things. He ran the moment he realized what they wanted him to learn. The memory made his stomach tighten. 

“I do know how!” Jon insisted, turning red. Septa Mordane cocked an eyebrow and Jon spluttered again. “It’s improper! Why don’t you do it?” 

“Fine! Go tell the Maester and explain how your betrothed has been laced tightly at the waist and how her choice of clothing has caused her to faint. Make sure you can answer all of the Maester’s questions about her state of dress.” Septa Mordane flatly said. 

Jon blushed. That did not sound like something he could go through. 

“Just as I thought. Unlace her ribbons and corsets and sashes. All of them!” Septa Mordane ordered before she rushed out of the room.

Jon grumbled and closed the door. He hurried over to Sansa and checked on her ribbons. 

Blushing madly, he fumbled with the buttons in the back of her dress. His fingers were thick, and he did not have an easy time with the small buttons. Finally, he loosened her bodice. 

What he saw underneath made him gasp. 

What should have been thin silk smallclothes that would surely tease his imagination turned out to be a corset with thick ribbons would tightly around her waist and bodice. His eyes widened as he slowly worked on undoing them. He winced, hearing the silk sash unfurling. 

“Why would you put yourself through this?” He muttered as he undid the smaller ribbons. 

Finally, the corset loosened and he was able to glimpse a white silk underdress. He blushed as he saw flashes of fair, flushed skin. He sighed in relief and turned her so she laid her on her back. He took the fan from the floor and started to fan her. 

Moments later, she stirred and opened her eyes, gently hoisting herself up to lean against the wall. Jon assisted her. 

Sansa was silent for a while before she looked down and saw the state of her undress. Her eyes widened and she hugged her dress tighter to herself, blushing adorably. Jon stood and backed away from her. 

“Septa Mordane told me you were laced up tightly today, that’s why you fainted. She went to get the Maester and told me to undo your corset so you could breathe better.” Jon explained. 

Sansa blushed, and nodded gently. Jon spotted a satin cloak hanging on a chair and stood up to get it. He gently draped it over Sansa to cover her modesty and she gratefully tugged it closer to her. 

“Sansa…why were all those ribbons wrapped around you?” Jon asked. 

“It’s how Southern Ladies dress.” Sansa said. Jon shook his head. 

“Septa Mordane said she didn’t want you to…” He trailed off. 

“She said it would be better if I took it slower, using the looser corsets first before moving on to the tighter ones.” Sansa nodded. 

“Why didn’t you?” Jon pressed. 

“I figured it was better like this, so I could get used to it right away.” Sansa murmured. 

“But you’re suffering.” Jon indignantly said. 

“I am not. I am merely adapting. It is no trouble, Prince Jon, all Southern ladies adapt to this manner of dress once they are my age.” Sansa said, shaking her head. 

Jon grumbled. 

“But you’re Northern. You can dress like a Northerner if you want, no one will bat an eye if you wear your old clothes. Don’t you like them?” Jon asked. 

“Of course, they are very pretty. But I am to be a Queen in the South. It is my duty.” Sansa said. 

Jon closed his eyes and sighed. 

He needed to make this right. For all her beauty that belonged among the praises of the capital, Sansa was still Northern to the bone. He feared that a winter rose like her would wilt here. He was unworthy of her—she was always so sunny and bright, and he was not.  
Even though he was very fond of his beautiful, perfect bride to the point that he could admit he was falling in love with her, he knew he had to do what was best for her. 

“Sansa…” Jon ground out. “If you are unhappy here…I can break off the engagement and you can go back North.” 

It wouldn’t be easy. He would risk offending the North, the wrath of his father, and the ire of his mother, but for her, he would shake The Eyrie off the Vale if he had to. 

Sansa’s reaction was not what he expected. Her eyes welled up with tears and she trembled. Jon immediately cursed himself for how he worded his statement. 

“You don’t want to marry me?” She asked, her voice breaking. 

“What? Sansa, no! Nothing would make me happier than to wed you! But you are miserable here, I can’t, I won’t keep you somewhere where you’re miserable!” Jon said. 

“Did I do something to displease you? Was it my fainting? I won’t do it again. I’ll do better in my lessons. I promise, please don’t send me away. I don’t want to dishonor my family. Please.” Sansa rambled, tears streaming down her eyes. 

Jon couldn’t resist. He gathered her in his arms and held her close, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks. 

“Sansa, sweetling, you are perfect. Too perfect for someone like me. But I don’t want you to do things you’re uncomfortable with. You are adored here, Sansa. No matter how you dress.” Jon murmured into her hair. This was the closest they had been, and it should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t. 

“I just want you to be happy here, Sansa. I know your life in the North was perfect…I want to give you a perfect life here as well. You deserve nothing less.” Jon gently said. Sansa looked up. 

“So you don’t want to send me away?” Sansa asked, gulping. 

“No, sweetling. I do not. I want to wed you in the Godswood, I want to have children with you, I want to rule the Seven Kingdoms with you, but only if it’s what will make you happy. Could…could you be happy here, Sansa?” Jon asked, fearing the answer. 

“I’ve never thought about happiness.” Sansa sighed. “I just did my duty as was expected of me. My mother’s family’s words are Family, Duty, Honor after all.” 

Jon was silent. If it weren’t for duty, would she reject him?

“But now that I think about it, I could be happy here. I could be happy with you. I enjoy…spending time with you. I love your family, I love the people here…yes, I could be happy here, Prince Jon.” Sansa said, smiling to look up at him. 

Jon’s heart soared and he pulled her closer. 

“Jon. You have to call me Jon.” He murmured. She nodded. 

“Will you promise to take better care of yourself? I don’t want the Northern bannermen storming the capital demanding my head.” Jon teased. Sansa giggled. 

“I will. Thank you, Jon.” Sansa said. Jon nodded, reminding himself to take better care of his betrothed. She was his responsibility, and damn if he didn’t do his best to make her happy. 

“Of course. Anything for you, sweetling.” Jon said, shaking out of his fantasy of burning all the corsets south of The Neck before Lord Robb Stark or even Lady Arya could throttle him for causing their sister pain. 

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but instead leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. 

Jon could do nothing but smile and hold her closer, kissing the top of her head in return. 

\--

The Royal Family often broke their fast together, and Sansa almost always joined them. 

Everyone was already seated when Sansa arrived. When she entered, King Rhaegar gave her a big smile, The Queen fussed over her, imploring her to sit down, Rhaenys ignored her and Jon could only gape. 

She was wearing a light gown, colored Tully blue, cinched at the waist with a thick ribbon colored Stark gray. Her hair was braided simply, hanging over her right shoulder. 

Jon observed the way she walked to her seat beside him. The ease on her movements made him smile in approval—she was not wearing one of those ridiculous corsets. 

She was his Southern Princess, which was evident in the way she curtsied, and smiled, and moved gracefully around the palace. 

But she looked every bit the winter rose that she truly was, and it pleased him to no end that she had not forgotten that. 

Winter is coming, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think?
> 
> Some notes to help clarify some things: 
> 
> I always imagined that without his very, very difficult childhood (if you read all about Viserys, you’ll actually see how tragic his life truly was), Viserys would actually be a loving brother. This was a boy who often told his sister stories of the Seven Kingdoms, and whose heart broke when he had to sell his mother’s crown. 
> 
> Arya and Sansa’s relationship here blossoms naturally. In a peaceful world, they would have eventually grown out of their sibling rivalry. They would spend their pre-teen years hating and loving each other, but always comforted by each other’s presence. I imagine Arya would be pissed at Jon for taking her only sister away. 
> 
> Tell me what you think! This is just a one-shot, but I might consider building more on this in the future if you guys like it. Maybe an Arya-Jon bonding fic in the next chapter?
> 
> Do you like it? Please leave a note or a kudos!


	2. Welcome to the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New and familiar faces flood King's Landing to celebrate the wedding of Prince Jon Targaryen and Lady Sansa Stark. Jon finally meets his Northern family only to face the wrath of Arya Stark. Chaos and hilarity ensue as Jon tries to bond with his soon to be goodsister. 
> 
> Featuring an adorable Gendry and a flirtatious Viserys. 
> 
> Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your positive feedback has encouraged me to write a follow up to this universe! I hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> Jon and Robb are 18, Sansa is 16, and Arya is 14. 
> 
> I added some Gendry/Arya undertones to help brighten up your days.

In the weeks leading up to Prince Jon Targaryen and Lady Sansa Stark’s wedding, it seemed the whole city was in high spirits.

 

Even Rhaenys seemed to be in a good mood.

 

Noble families from all over the Seven Kingdoms flocked to the capital. The palace was abuzz with new and familiar faces, salacious gossip, and luxurious merriment. King Rhaegar spared no expense for his heir’s wedding, even going as far as to refuse Lord Eddard Stark’s offer to share the financial burdens.

 

Danaerys and Viserys returned with tanned faces and lovely gifts, and their flurry of stories from their travels kept the dinner tables enraptured. Sansa was pleased to have her friend back, and she enjoyed how Viserys kept on playfully flirting with her just to tease Jon, who in turn was too easily goaded.

 

“I do it so his head doesn’t get too big.” Viserys whispered to her one night after they had just danced. They shared a chuckle, trying not to look at Jon who was silently fuming at the side. Jon later admitted to her that even though he knew that Viserys meant well, he still could not help but be jealous of his uncle’s natural charm.

 

Jon was by no means insecure—he knew that Sansa’s heart was his, but he could not help but feel resentful because when it came to dancing and charming ladies, Viserys was better.

 

Sansa was quick to tell her beloved that he did not need to be charming, her charm was plenty enough for both of them.

 

When the Tyrells arrived, Viserys quickly turned her attentions to young Margaery, much to Jon’s relief and Sansa’s amusement. Loras Tyrell immediately captured the hearts of many ladies, but no one could approach him because he was almost always in the company of the equally handsome Renly Baratheon.

 

Sansa was grateful for the retinue of noble ladies that suddenly surrounded her—she had always longed for an assortment of female friends. Arianne Martell easily won her over with her wit and talent for storytelling—they talked often whenever Arianne wasn’t too busy making moon-eyes at Domeric Bolton.

 

Myrcella Baratheon was a sweet companion, raven haired like her father and beautiful like her mother, she trailed after Sansa faithfully and Sansa in turn appreciated her soft nature and good eye for fashion. Asha Greyjoy was surprisingly pleasant to be with, although her brother was a bit of a bore. Arianne found her marvelous.

 

Even though Sansa thought Jon was the handsomest man in the Seven Kingdoms, she could not help but giggle when almost every lady in the Keep suddenly turned their attentions to Gendry Baratheon and Edric Dayne. The two were handsome—astonishingly and strikingly so. Gendry was awkward and did not know how to deal with the attention, so he hid himself behind a blacksmith’s mask in the forge. Edric reveled in it, and was often seen with a new favor around his wrist or an embroidered handkerchief tucked under his vest.

 

Sansa was very excited for her family to arrive. She only wished her Stark uncles would be able to see her wed, but Uncle Benjen was staying in the North as the Stark in Winterfell. Her uncle Brandon, unfortunately, had died long before Sansa was born due to an unfortunate hunting accident.

 

Her Aunt Lysa arrived from the Vale pregnant and glowing, with little cousin Robyn dutifully toddling after his mother. Lord Jon Arryn was as attentive as ever, never having gotten over the tragedy of losing his older sons to some plague a few summers ago.

 

When Jon saw the pregnant, red-haired Lysa, he immediately turned to Sansa and flushed red. Sansa narrowed her eyes at him and smiled playfully as if to say, _maybe someday._

 

Her uncle Edmure arrived, handsome as ever with his red haired heir in tow. He had married a lovely Frey girl—Roslin if Sansa was correct. He gave her a tight embrace and told her he looked so much like her mother. Sansa told him he looked like Robb, which made him chuckle.

 

She felt her stomach tighten when she heard a few ladies express their excitement over the only eligible bachelor of high stature who had not yet arrived—Robb Stark.

 

Sansa knew her family would be the last to arrive, seeing as they lived the farthest from the capital. Their ship was due to arrive soon and Sansa kept counting the hours. The only one who was more excited than she was The Queen Lyanna. In the days leading up to the Starks’ arrival, Sansa noticed that the Queen started wearing dresses in the Stark colors.

 

Jon, however, was a nervous wreck.

 

Sansa tried to assure him that there was nothing to worry about—they would absolutely love him as much as she did. No matter what she said, he could not be comforted. He kept on blabbing on about the most mundane of things—would Robb be all right with a room facing the west? How would he address the Sansa’s father? Lord Stark, Uncle, Father?

 

It was starting to become annoying.

 

Sansa was practically bouncing on her feet when she saw the carriage that received the Stark Family from Blackwater Bay trot up to the palace steps. Jon’s hands were clasped tight together—at first he held on to Sansa’s hand but decided that it would be too much of a display of affection for her family’s eyes.

 

He was acting like he hadn’t even kissed her before.

 

When the carriage finally stopped, it was Sansa’s father who stepped out first. Sansa could not help but gasp and put her hands over her mouth. Even though it had only been a year since she’s seen her father’s face, she could immediately count the number of things that were different: his hair was a bit shorter, his beard was longer, and his shoulders seemed weary from the travel.

 

It took all of her propriety not to jump into her father’s arms.

 

He helped out Lady Catelyn, and Robb came out, taller and looking much more handsome—the few ladies teetering about certainly noticed him and he was all too happy to give them a playful wink. Bran and Rickon hopped out excitedly, and finally, Robb had to pull Arya out by her arm. The direwolves followed after them faithfully.

 

They walked up to the steps, and when Ned Stark saw his eldest daughter, looking beautiful and happy beside her betrothed, his heart soared in pride.

 

Sansa rushed to meet her family halfway, leaving Jon to follow at a much slower pace. She embraced her father first, and received kisses from her mother. Robb lifted her up and twirled her, causing her to giggle. Bran and Rickon jumped up and down, begging for her attention so they could give her a bouquet of pink flowers. Sansa barely had any time to smell the fragrance before Arya pushed the boys aside to hug her fiercely.

 

Remembering her manners, Sansa turned to Jon.

 

“I’d like you all to meet Prince Jon Targaryen.” Sansa introduced. “My betrothed.”

 

“Good morning, Lord and Lady Stark. Welcome to King’s Landing.” Jon recited the words Sansa had heard him murmur to himself all morning long. Ned must have sensed the boy’s nervousness for he clapped his nephew on the back and gave him a smile.

 

“My nephew…my don’t you look like Brandon.” Ned heartily chuckled. Jon flushed and looked down.

 

“Sansa has written us good things about you, Prince Jon. It is lovely to meet my nephew.” Lady Catelyn said.

 

“Please don’t call me Prince…” Jon murmured.

 

“I will not hear any more of this Lord and Lady Stark business. Uncle Ned will be fine, dear boy.” Ned said. Jon nodded.

 

For years, Jon and Lyanna had been the only Northern faces in the capital. But now, as he looked at his aunt and uncle, he suddenly _knew_ that this was what he and Sansa would look like in a few years. He felt like he was going to cry—his uncle Ned and cousin Arya _looked_ like him.

 

Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard then excused themselves to go greet the King and Queen inside. They asked the children to follow soon.

 

“Meet your cousins!” Sansa excitedly said, pulling Jon over to her siblings.

 

“You must be Robb.” Jon said, holding out his hand for the young Lord to shake. Robb nodded and smiled, shaking his hand.

 

“So this is the man my sister has fallen in love with.” Robb winked at Sansa. Jon almost choked. “Thank you for the letters, Jon. I’m glad to know Sansa’s in good hands.”

 

Robb leaned in to embrace Jon, and Jon was only too happy to return it.

 

Bran and Rickon excitedly greeted him, asking him questions about dragons, the tourney, and the knights in the capital. Jon looked overwhelmed by the two energetic boys, so Sansa then steered him towards Arya.

 

Jon gulped. Sansa narrowed her eyes at Arya warningly.

 

“Arya, this is our cousin Jon.” Sansa carefully said. Everyone was now silent, waiting with bated breath. Robb pulled Arya to stand in front of Jon.

 

Sansa was nervous. Robb had written to her before they sailed, claiming that Arya had been in a foul mood the whole trip. She told Jon to be ready for whatever antics Arya might pull.

 

Arya, however, could only stare at the prince. She had already gotten used to being the only raven-haired Stark in a sea of red-haired siblings, but seeing Jon made her heart clench. He looked like her.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady—OW BLOODY HELL!”

 

Jon growled in pain, hopping on one foot. Arya had stomped on his right foot and was now running towards the castle. Robb roared in laughter.

 

“ARYA!” Sansa angrily called, but she had now disappeared into the Red Keep. Bran and Rickon then raced each other to follow Arya.

 

“Jon, I am so sorry!” Sansa cried, holding Jon close. “Are you okay?”

 

“I feared worse.” Jon grumbled. Robb was still laughing, clutching his stomach so he wouldn’t fall over.

 

“That went better than expected.” Robb laughed. “A word of advice, don’t ever call her Lady again. Greywind, come!”

 

Robb called his large direwolf to follow him into the castle. Lady was in the throne room, possibly bonding with her littermates. She made a note to ask Robb where they had hidden the white albino wolf. Robb had written to her that they were bringing it to Jon as a wedding present.

 

“Will you be alright?” Sansa asked. Jon shrugged.

 

“Here I thought it’d be Robb I’d have to win over.” Jon sighed.

 

“You and Robb will get along well, I’m sure. Bran, just show him where the library is—he loves to read; maybe you can introduce him to the Tarly heir, and take Rickon to the stables—I swear that boy is half Dothraki.” Sansa said as he and Jon made their way inside.

 

The rest of the walk up to the keep was clouded in silence. Sansa could not help but sigh at how Jon so dearly desired for her family to like him. It showed her how much he truly loved her. She looked into his eyes and gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

 

“Sansa?” Jon stopped and looked at her. Sansa smiled at him. “I love you.”

 

It wouldn’t have been proper for them to kiss in broad daylight, so Sansa put her arms around him and sighed.

 

“I love you too, Jon.” She murmured into his tunic.

 

\--

Sansa insisted that she and Arya share a room, seeing as the Red Keep was almost filled to the brim. The days after their arrival were filled with wedding planning. Arya had been scolded by their parents at once, and was now avoiding any interaction at all with Prince Jon.

 

She and Arya were currently in their room checking over the dresses that Arya would wear to the wedding. The boys were currently preparing for an afternoon riding out at the beach with the other young lords. Arya wanted to join, of course, but declined after learning that Jon would be leading it.

 

Sansa could see her sister was starting to regret her decision after she was forced to look at bolts of silks and damask.

 

“This blue one will go well with your skin. I can stitch a belt onto it with a few crystals.” Sansa trilled, showing her a lovely, dress cut in the style that was favored in The Reach. Arya hummed in response. Sansa exasperatedly sighed.

 

“Arya, why don’t you just go with them?” Sansa huffed, tossing the dress onto the bed and crossing her arms. Arya frowned.

 

“I don’t want to.” Arya stubbornly said. “I want to look at the dresses.”

 

“Really? You, Arya, you want to look at dresses?” Sansa accused. Arya blushed and looked away.

 

Sansa sighed and sat next to her sister.

 

“You’re going to have to give him a chance, Arya. He did nothing wrong.” Sansa gently said, placing her hand over Arya’s.

 

Arya remained silent.

 

“Why don’t you like him?” Sansa whined. She wanted her future husband and her sister to love each other. She thought that if they met, they’d come together naturally. But it wasn’t going according to plan.

 

“Robb likes him, Bran and Rickon also. And…I love him. So for my sake, please, can’t you get along?” Sansa huffed. Arya’s face softened and she twiddled with her thumbs.

 

When Arya continued to be obstinate, Sansa narrowed her eyes.

 

“Don’t you want me to be happy?” Sansa pressed. It was a low blow, but Sansa felt she had exhausted all options. Arya rolled her eyes and huffed.

 

“You were happy in the North. Until...” Arya started. Sansa growled under her breath.

 

“What?” Sansa pressed.

 

“He took you away.” Arya started.

 

“No he didn’t. It was a betrothal.” Sansa countered, getting sick of her whole reasoning. It wasn’t like he was a wildling and had thrown her over his shoulder to carry her off to be his spearwife.

 

“Let me finish.” Arya huffed. “I don’t mean that he _literally_ took you. I mean that you’re clearly in love with him. I’d have thought Robb wouldn’t like him, that’s what older brothers do, right? But they wrote to each other and now it’s like they’re brothers. Bran and Rickon…well, you see how quickly they took to him. Which leaves me...” Arya grumbled.

 

“Is that what this is all about? You think we like him better than you? Arya, that’s ridiculous! You’re our sister and we love you!” Sansa cried.

 

“I know that.” Arya grumbled. Sansa sighed; she needed her sister to see that there was room for more love in all their hearts. Arya clearly didn’t like change, but change was always inevitable.

 

Sansa sought a compromise.

 

“Look, I’m not saying you have to be his best friend, but at least _try_ , okay. Please? For me?” Sansa looked at her sister hopelessly, and Arya relented.

 

“Fine. I’ll go to the stupid beach.” Arya muttered. Sansa clapped her hands in excitement and embraced her sister.

 

“Great! And don’t worry; you won’t be beside Jon the whole time. I mean, I hear Gendry Baratheon is going as well.” Sansa winked. Arya whipped her face to look at her.

 

“So?” Arya snapped, turning red. Sansa laughed.

 

“Didn’t he ask you to dance at last night’s feast?” Sansa teased. Arya rolled her eyes.

 

“Yeah. I told him to shove it. Made his father laugh.” Arya mumbled, blushing even more.

 

Sansa shook her head—that part she remembered. It was Sansa who apologized to young Lord Gendry on behalf of her sister. Lord Robert, seated beside her lord Father and already well into his cups, had been a good sport about it—even going so far as to tease: _Son, if you want to court a lady, then stop forging swords and learn how to play a harp!_

 

Lady Cersei was still clearly offended for her eldest, but thankfully did not comment further.

 

A knock on the door shook Sansa from her musings. Sansa opened it to reveal Jon.

“Last chance. Are you sure you ladies don’t want to go to the beach?” Jon asked, smiling at them. Arya rolled her eyes. He had managed to charm everyone in her family, but not her.

 

“I have to talk flower arrangements with Margaery. But Arya…” Sansa said, motioning for her sister to come close. Arya shrugged but took a few steps towards them.

 

“I’ll go.” She mumbled. Jon’s eyes widened, and he and Sansa shared a pointed look.

 

“That’s great!” Jon said, unable to keep the excitement of his voice. This was his chance to win Arya over.

 

“Have fun! Please be safe!” Sansa called out as Jon led Arya away. Jon rambled on about how the beach looked during sunset, with Arya nodding occasionally. Sansa sighed and closed her door, praying to the Gods that her beloved and her sister can finally get the chance to bond.

 

\--

The beach was beautiful, but a bit boring. The guards expressly forbade them from swimming seeing as the tides were expected to rise high, so they settled for playing games in the sand.

 

Arya spotted a cave by the west, and curiously steered her horse towards it.

 

“I’m going to the cave!” She called out to everyone. She was the only girl to join the riding party, but Robb assured everyone that she was very good on horseback and would not hold them back.

 

“Don’t go too far!” Robb hollered back as he exchanged laughs with Domeric and Edric.

 

“I’ll come with you.” Gendry offered, but Robb quickly grabbed his new friend’s arm and pulled him away.

 

“Oh no you don’t. We’re having arbor gold.” Robb grinned, pulling a bottle out from a satchel. This earned him cheers.

 

“I’ll go with her.” Jon offered, steering his horse to trot beside hers. Robb nodded his assent.

 

“Great.” Arya mumbled under her breath. Jon didn’t respond.

 

The ride towards the cave was silent, and when they arrived at the mouth, Jon offered to help her down but she refused. She could do it herself, and she did. Jon then tied the horses to a nearby tree and they made their way inside.

 

It was truly a sight to behold.

 

“Amazing” Arya whispered, and the cave walls echoed. Arya jumped at the sound, but grinned when she realized it was her own voice.

 

“Whenever Viserys visited from Dragonstone, he’d take me here and we’d scream as loud as we could.” Jon said, patting the cave wall.

 

Arya stayed silent, instead choosing to stare at the frog happily hopping across the cave floor.

 

“Look!” Jon called, pointing a small stream of rushing water. He and Arya walked over to it. Jon reached into the water and pulled out a large, cream-colored shell. Arya gulped—she had never seen anything prettier in her life.

 

“Watch this.” Jon smiled as he brushed away sand from the shell. He took a pocketknife and wrenched the shell open, revealing a fat pearl nestled snugly in the middle.

 

He saw Arya’s face fill with awe, and Jon grinned in triumph. Arya realized this, so she quickly masked her expression back to nonchalance, much to Jon’s amusement.

 

“I’ll give it to Sansa. She’ll like this.” Jon murmured, closing the shell and carefully tucking it inside his satchel. He saw Arya’s face soften at the mention of her sister.

 

“Do you…do you really love her?” Arya managed to sputter out. Jon looked at her, not expecting the question. He nodded eagerly.

 

“More than anything.” He breathed out, looking outside as the sun began to set.

 

“And you promise you won’t ever hurt her…or be unfaithful…or make her unhappy…” Arya carefully continued.

 

“I promise.” Jon solemnly said, having already made that promise to Sansa in his mind many moons ago when they first met. Arya took a deep breath and kicked a pebble near her shoe.

 

“I’m sorry for…how I’ve been…acting…” Arya murmured guiltily, her cheeks flushing red.

 

Jon quickly shook his head, pausing to look at Arya. He began to see how different she and Sansa were. Arya preferred to wear breeches, cut her hair short, and was interested in horseback riding and swordplay rather than weaving and harp playing. Had the circumstances been different, he had no doubt they would have been best friends.

 

But, he saw something else in her eyes, something that reminded him too much of his betrothed. Gulping, he realized what it was: Stark steel.

 

“It’s okay. I understand, you love your sister.” Jon finally said. Arya nodded in agreement.

 

“We used to fight all the time. But she…sometimes…it was just us against the boys. When she left…” Arya sighed, twiddling with her fingers.

 

“You felt alone?” Jon asked. Arya nodded. “I know how you feel.” He saw Arya’s eyes widen in surprise, so he continued.

 

“I felt alone too, until your sister came.” Jon confessed. Arya looked at him disbelievingly.

 

“But you have your aunt and uncle, and your sister.” Arya frowned.

 

“Rhaenys…well, I’m sure your sister mentioned her in her letters.” Jon rolled his eyes, and Arya nodded, the thought of the mean-spirited Princess making her sister uncomfortable stirring a fire in her heart. She had not met Rhaenys yet but once she did, Arya swore she would make the woman pay.

 

“Viserys and Danaerys were always a pair. Me? I had no one. When Sansa arrived, I said, finally, here is someone Northern as well. I know I’m a Southern prince but I do like the idea of being half Northern.” Jon said, running his hand through his dark hair.

 

“You are Northern. Look at you.” Arya said, shrugging. Jon laughed.

 

“We look the same, you know.” Jon teased. Arya rolled her eyes.

 

“You’re going to look like father someday. Or Uncle Benjen.” Arya begrudgingly said. Jon smiled, feeling his pride swell.

 

They listened to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Soon, it was time to leave. However, just as they exited the cave, Jon stopped and turned to Arya.

 

“Here. Have this.” Jon said, pulling the shell out of his satchel and gently placing it in Arya’s hands. Arya held the shell between her fingers and frowned.

 

“But it’s for Sansa.” Arya narrowed her eyes.

 

“I can get her another present. That one’s for you.” Jon shook his head. Arya looked at him suspiciously, before sighing and giving him her signature smirk.

 

“I don’t like girly things like this.” Arya mumbled, and for a while Jon felt that all his efforts had been for naught. “But thanks.”

 

Jon smiled as Arya hid the shell into her own satchel. Wordlessly, they climbed onto their horses.

 

“This changes nothing, okay? You’re still the prince who took my sister away.” Arya said, but there was now a light, teasing tone to her words. “But for Sansa’s sake, I will be nicer.”

 

“I won’t stop until I win you over, Arya Stark.” Jon grinned as he pulled on the reins of his horse.

 

“You’re welcome to try, Prince Jon.” Arya calmly said, shrugging. She gave her horse a light kick before glaring at Jon challengingly. Jon took the bait—if his soon to be goodsister was in a playful mood, who was he to deny her?

 

Their laughter echoed into the sunset as they raced each other.

 

\--

“I don’t know what you did, but she’s been in a better mood these past few days!” Sansa dreamily sighed, curling her arm around Jon’s and resting her head on his shoulder. Jon chuckled and planted a kiss on her cheek.

 

It was a warm day and they were taking a walk to the Godswood. Sansa had suggested to Jon that they could have an intimate ceremony before the Old Gods at dawn before their grand ceremony at the Sept of Baelor. Jon wholeheartedly agreed, eager to engage his Northern roots. Jon only wished he could give Sansa a wedding by Winterfell’s Heart Tree like she so badly wanted, but they both knew it wasn’t possible.

 

“We just raced on the beach, that’s all.” Jon murmured. He decided that the moment he and Arya shared should be just between them. Sansa hummed happily and looked up at him.

 

“And she went to watch you spar yesterday? Oh I just knew you’d get along!” Sansa trilled. Jon wouldn’t say they were getting along, but Arya wasn’t avoiding her anymore, which was good.

 

“Not just to watch me spar. Lord Gendry is often inside the forge near the fighting pit.” Jon teased. Sansa laughed.

 

Sansa relished the closeness she and Jon shared. Moments alone with him had been scarce lately, what will all the festivities happening, so she cherished this time with him.

 

Jon seemed to have similar ideas. He suddenly stopped and took a quick look around to see if there were any onlookers. Sansa didn’t have time to process his actions because it was all so sudden. But time stopped when Jon leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on her soft lips.

 

Sansa blushed—even though it had been many moons since they shared their first kiss, she still got butterflies on her stomach whenever Jon showed her any kind of affection. His kisses were addicting.

 

Suddenly, they heard a scuffle and Jon quickly tightened his hold on her.

 

It appears that they weren’t alone.

 

“Isn’t that Gendry?” Sansa hissed, pointing at the tall, raven haired youth. He was seated in a bench under a tree, holding on his lap what looked like a sword with a bull for its pommel.

 

“Who is he with?” Jon whispered. Sansa tugged him to hide behind a tree so that they had a clear view.

 

“It’s Arya!” They both whispered, surprised. They put their hands over their mouths so as not to exclaim.

 

Sure enough, Arya was seated cross-legged beside Gendry, frowning at him.

 

“What is that?” Arya asked, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“I made it…for you…that, is. You can have it.” Gendry said, pushing the sword into her hands.

 

“You made this?” Arya disbelievingly asked. Gendry eagerly nodded. She took a moment to admire it, but then put it down and schooled her face into a frown. “It’s okay, I don’t want it.” Arya stood up and turned to leave.

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. _Of course Arya wanted it._

 

“What? You’d rather I get you flowers, then?” Gendry asked, stepping quickly to stand in front of her.

 

“I’d rather you get the bloody hell out of my face and shove yourself back in your forge before I tell Nymeria to chase you back to Storm’s End.” Arya threatened, storming away but not before bumping Gendry on the side.

“Language, Arya.” Sansa hissed, silently admonishing her sister. Jon rolled his eyes.

 

Gendry, undeterred, jogged to follow Arya. He called out for her to wait for him, but it appeared his pleas fell on deaf ears.

 

When they were sure it was safe, Jon pulled Sansa out of their hiding place.

 

“You think something will come out of that?” Jon asked, shaking his head at the strange scene.

 

“Arya likes him. I see it in her eyes, but she’s as stubborn as a mule.” Sansa indignantly said.

 

“Gendry is smitten, he won’t give up easily.” Jon chuckled.

 

“He’ll have to go through me first.” Sansa calmly said, looking Jon in the eye. Jon could swear he saw the same flash Stark steel that he saw in Arya’s eyes that afternoon at the beach.

 

He pitied Gendry. The Stark sisters were forces of nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that! Not much Jon/Sansa fluff, but hopefully the Starks bonding makes up for that. 
> 
> Some notes to clarify things:
> 
> Cersei and Robert are happily married. Joanna managed to raise her children well to prevent an incestuous relationship between Jaime and Cersei. I do believe that Robert could have had the chance to be happy with someone had his obsession with Lyanna not spiraled out of control. 
> 
> In canon, Robb never really showed preference to favor a particular sister. He loved Arya and Sansa equally, but it was clear that Jon and Arya had a more special relationship in canon. It was Catelyn’s treatment of the bastard of Winterfell that drove a wedge between Sansa and Jon. I’m sure that Arya having an older brother that was just hers added to the hostility and rivalry between the sisters in canon. I decided to turn that around for this fic and change the dynamics. 
> 
> I have plans to write another follow up to this: either their wedding, or a jump back in time to see how they first confessed their love to each other. Which do you think I should write next? I am enjoying this universe too much. I believe they all deserve to be happy, don’t you?
> 
> Tell me what you think! Don’t forget to leave a comment or kudos!


	3. Love Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon love each other, but they can’t seem to say the words out loud. Help comes from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind reviews. I'm excited to present to you the story of how Jon and Sansa finally fessed up, because you know getting them to admit they love each other is difficult in ANY universe. My longest chapter yet. 
> 
> This takes place AFTER the first chapter and BEFORE the second chapter. I hope you like it!

It was at the Midsummer Festival that Sansa realized she loved Jon.

 

They were at the large market square, surrounded by twinkling lights, stalls selling all sort of merchandise, and a whole array of happy people abuzz with excitement. Guards followed them from a discreet distance, of course, but the whole city was in such a merry mood that no one cared that there were nobles and royals milling about with the smallfolk.

 

Sansa and Jon were having a wonderful time sharing candied fruit imported all the way from Essos. Suddenly, one of the jesters called for a dance and lively music started to play. People rushed to the makeshift dance floor and began to partner up, swaying to the lovely tunes. Sansa’s face lit up, and she immediately reached for Jon’s hand to pull him into the dance.

 

Her face faltered when she saw that he looked nervous.

 

Sansa knew she cared deeply for her betrothed. He was very intelligent and honorable—exactly the sort of king Westeros could hope for. But he was also humble; he cared about the wellbeing of others more than himself and never sought to inconvenience anyone. He also went to such great lengths to make Sansa happy.

 

That was what led to her realization. Jon had never been one for finery and dancing, much to his father’s chagrin. Although he carried himself with a sort of legal stature, Sansa had spent enough time with him to know that he was actually a bit awkward and clumsy.

 

So, being a wonderful and dutiful fiancé who did not want to embarrass her betrothed, she pointed at a stall selling a colorful array of masks made by craftsmen from The Reach.

 

“Jon, look! Isn’t your father planning a masque of some sort for your mother’s nameday?” Sansa trilled, excitedly bouncing at her feet. Jon looked over at the stall thoughtfully.

 

“Those masks are pretty, but I thought you would rather…I mean…you look like you wanted to…dance…” Jon mumbled, flushing and looking at the ground. Sansa smiled.

 

“Jon, I know you don’t like to dance. I want us to enjoy this festival together.” She gently said, giving his hand a squeeze. She was less conscious about physical displays of affection such as handholding because well, there seemed to be no courtiers around looking to judge her propriety—and if they were, they were too busy enjoying the evening.

 

“You’re right. I don’t like to dance.” Jon began. Sansa was a bit hurt—she loved dancing, but she also knew that relationships were about compromise. She gulped and nodded, forcing a smile.

 

“So? Let’s go.” Sansa said, motioning to the stall.

 

“But I know you love to dance. So I want to do it with you…this is your first Midsummer Festival in King’s Landing after all.” Jon managed to ground out.

 

Sansa felt her heart flutter.

 

“That’s very sweet of you, Jon. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I can give up dancing for you.” She said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.

 

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to be anything but yourself so come, we’re dancing.” Jon gently said, giving her a heart-wrenching smile.

 

Before Sansa could react, Jon was pulling her to the dance floor. The people around them instinctively gave them space, but thankfully they all minded their own business. For that, Sansa was thankful—she didn’t want Jon to feel self-conscious.

 

The dance was fast, and not so structured. Everyone just seemed to jump and sway whenever the tunes hit high. They were all smiling, and laughing—the joy was contagious. Sansa held Jon’s hand as they turned and twirled, with Jon stepping on her toes more than once.

 

“Sorry.” Jon grumbled, frowning at himself. Feeling bold, Sansa put her hand on Jon’s cheek and smiled.

 

“You’re doing fine. Don’t think about the steps, just look me in the eyes and have fun.” She gently said. Jon gulped, but did as she said. When he looked straight into her cobalt blue eyes, his mind went on a haze.

 

Soon, Jon found himself following a rhythm. He was careful not to tug Sansa roughly or to step on her toes, but he knew he was a bit unsuccessful—though she didn’t seem to mind. He had a feeling she was ignoring his mistakes on purpose, but it didn’t matter because her smile looked like it could light the whole city.

 

He promised himself that the next time they danced (during their wedding), he would be much more prepared.

 

When the song strummed to a close, Sansa felt herself being tugged towards Jon’s chest. She leaned her head against his heart, laughing as the smallfolk applauded the musicians. She felt his chest heaving from the fast dance. She looked up and saw that he was smiling.

This was a man who didn’t like to dance, but did so anyway so she could enjoy her first festival. Even though he was a prince and had to keep a strong image, he still risked embarrassing himself in front of the smallfolk just so she could dance. A sweet thought floated through her head.

 

_I love you._

 

She gasped as the realization hit her hard. Her heart started to beat quicker, but as soon as she took a deep breath, she welcomed the new sensation. She was happy that she was in love. It didn’t matter that Jon might reciprocate or not—her mother always taught her love of any kind was a gift and should be treasured.

 

 _Yes, I’m in love with him. I love this wonderful, wonderful man. My heart is his,_ she thought to herself.

 

Forgetting all propriety, she jumped and wound her arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. Jon caught her embrace easily and wrapped his arm around her waist.

 

\--

 

It was a letter from Robb that made Jon realize that he was in love with Sansa.

 

He had written a letter to Robb a week prior, politely inviting him to join the Midsummer Festival. It was a formality, of course, Jon knew that Robb would not be able to sail to King’s Landing until the wedding.

 

Writing to Robb started out as a way for him to get to know his Northern family. His father suggested that keep correspondence with the heir to the Winterfell and keep him updated on his sister the way that Rhaegar did so with Eddard. Robb was fully appreciative of the gesture, and had admitted that if Jon hadn’t written to him first, he would have written to the prince anyway.

But when the letters started coming and going, Jon saw how much they made Sansa happy. So even though sometimes, the reports on Sansa’s activities in the capital became too repetitive, Jon would keep writing letters in the hopes that Robb would write back, which he did without fail.

 

It made his heart soar to see her eyes light up whenever a letter arrived. It was clear to anyone with eyes that she loved her family—she gush to tell everyone about Robb’s skill with a sword, Arya’s mischief, Bran’s intelligence, and Rickon’s love of horses. She could talk endlessly about how her father always spent time in the Godswood cleaning Ice, or how her mother distributed medicine to the people of Wintertown during cold days.

 

What he wouldn’t give to keep that smile on her face.

 

She was reading animatedly reading the letter to him. They were inside a study, and Sansa was seated on a chair by the windowsill. The sun cast its soft rays on her auburn hair, making her glow.

 

“Rickon’s room has been overrun by ants. Our Lady Mother was furious, and no doubt Sansa would be too if she were here because their rooms are beside each other.” Sansa’s voice twinkled as she laughed.

 

Jon always asked Sansa to read the letters, if only to hear her musical voice more.

 

“It turns out, our youngest brother has been stealing cakes in the middle of the night and sharing them with Shaggydog. Please give our regards to our sister. Tell Sansa we miss her so much and we cannot wait to see her. Love, Robb S.” Sansa finished. She felt tears well up in her eyes—she missed her family so much.

 

“I’m sorry that you can’t be with them.” Jon gently said, taking her hands in his. She wiped down the few stray tears that escaped.

“It’s okay. I’ll see them soon.” Sansa exhaled, folding the letter and holding it close to her heart.

 

“It must be lonely for you here, I mean, you were surrounded by four loud siblings and all the Red Keep can offer is Rhaenys’s complaining and my stuttering.” Jon teased.

 

“You don’t stutter as much anymore, Jon, not like when we first met.” Sansa rolled her eyes. It was true. Jon had been so nervous around her during her first few days here that Sansa began to wonder if there was even a chance that they’d grow closer.

 

“Besides, I’m not lonely here. I have you.” Sansa gently said, smiling at him.

 

_By the Gods, I’ve fallen in love with her._

 

All Jon could do was thank her for her kind words and sweet trust, giving her a tight embrace. He did love her, and even though she might not feel the same way towards him, he knew he would do his duty to take care of her so that she never wanted for anything.

 

But of course, unrequited love tends to drive a man insane. Jon’s mood suddenly began to change—he became more jumpy and defensive in the next few days. Not around Sansa, of course, he didn’t want to alarm her by making his feelings too obvious when she was still just getting used to life in King’s Landing.

 

But King Rhaegar had had enough of his son’s brooding. It was he who made Jon say it out loud first.

 

“How are the repairs going in the eastern sector?” Rhaegar asked as he looked through parchment after parchment. He was referring to the fire that had recently ravaged a small hospital and orphanage in the eastern part in King’s Landing.

 

“Doing well. Access to clean water has been restored and all that’s left to do is restock the hospital’s herb supply.” Jon said. He prided himself on doing his job as a crown prince well.

 

“Good, good. I think that’s all? Unless, there’s something else?” Rhaegar asked, putting down the parchment and looking his son in the eye. Jon shook his head.

 

“No. That’s all.” Jon stated. Rhaegar stayed silent.

 

“Sansa has been in the capital for…three moons now, am I correct?” Rhaegar asked.

 

“Yes.” Jon stated. He wondered where this conversation was headed.

 

“And how is she doing? Is she adjusting well?” Rhaegar asked.

 

“I think so…” Jon began, but he frowned. “I thought you were writing letters to Lord Stark about her progress.”

 

“Oh, I am, but those are from her tutors. I want to hear what her betrothed has to say.” Rhaegar winked. Jon blushed.

 

“How is she, son?” Rhaegar asked. Jon gulped.

 

“She is doing well.” Jon mumbled.

 

“You’re spending a lot of time together?” Rhaegar asked.

 

“I haven’t been ignoring my duties.” Jon said, becoming defensive. Rhaegar laughed.

 

“That wasn’t what I was implying. I only meant, are you enjoying her company?” Rhaegar asked. Jon nodded vigorously.

 

“Yes. Sansa’s perfect.” Jon blurted. His eyes widened when he realized what he had just said. Rhaegar cocked an eyebrow.

 

“Perfect?” Rhaegar mused. Jon could not take it back, not that he wanted to. He stood by his statement.

 

“Yes. She is. Thank you for arranging an excellent match for me, Father.” Jon said, trying to get some of his dignity back.

 

“I’m glad you like her, son. A marriage with political advantages is good, but a marriage built on genuine affection is better.” Rhaegar said. Jon frowned. What was the point of all this?

 

“Are you seeing to it that she is comfortable? Is she happy here?” Rhaegar pressed. Jon was quick to answer.

 

“Yes, I mean, she is. I’d do anything for her.” Jon blurted out. He inwardly groaned at how childish he sounded.

 

“Anyone with eyes can see that.” Rhaegar said, rolling his eyes.

 

“What?” Jon’s head shot up. Rhaegar looked at him, amused.

 

“Oh come off it, son. It’s no surprise. It’s clear that you adore the young winter rose.” Rhaegar chuckled. Jon clenched his fists.

 

Was he that obvious?

 

“I…” Jon was lost for words.

 

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, son. She is very beautiful, and intelligent, and lovely. I’d be more surprised if you _didn’t_ like her.” Rhaegar teased, his violet eyes twinkling.

 

“I’d say she even feels the same for you too.” Rhaegar shrugged. Jon’s head snapped to look at his father. Did he dare hope?

 

“What?” Jon managed to stutter out.

 

“Oh…you didn’t…well, it’s just, and the way she looks at you. You two care for each other, don’t you?” Now Rhaegar was the one who was flushed. He ran his fingers through his silvery hair and cleared his throat.

 

The King thought that the two had already been honest to each other about their feelings, he didn’t mean to pry.

 

But, he mused, his son was too shy and silent and Sansa was too ladylike and demure. Rhaegar realized that an intervention was needed—or else they’d spend the rest of their days hopelessly in love with each other but never uttering a word about it.

 

Who better to meddle than a loving father?

 

“Son…you don’t just care for her, do you?” Rhaegar gently asked, putting his hand on his son’s shoulder.

 

Jon’s eyes searched his own. Rhaegar felt his heir’s shoulders slump in defeat.

 

“I love her.” Jon mumbled. Rhaegar sighed, it was just as he suspected.

 

“Love…love is such a surreal feeling, isn’t it?” Rhaegar sighed, smiling dreamily. Jon nodded helplessly.

 

“I don’t care if she’ll ever feel the same. I just…I know I do love her.” Jon said, looking down at the floor.

 

“That’s why you’ve been frustrated the past few days. You know…that won’t go away unless you tell her. She deserves to know.” Rhaegar said. Jon looked up.

 

“I…I don’t know how…or I don’t want to…not yet, maybe.” Jon said, shrugging. “She just arrived here and I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on her.”

 

“You are kind man, son. Sansa is lucky to have you. One day you’ll find it in your heart to tell her.” Rhaegar winked. Jon nodded.

 

“May I be excused?” Jon ground out. Rhaegar nodded, deciding that he had tortured his heir enough for today.

 

“Of course. Go spend time with your betrothed.” Rhaegar said. Jon excused himself.

 

He had plans to accompany Sansa flower picking that afternoon. As he made his way to her chambers, his father’s words echoed in his mind.

 

_She deserves to know._

 

\--

It was their dance together that made Jon decide he was going to tell her.

 

He couldn’t take it anymore. The way it felt when they touched—it made his stomach churn and his mind hazy. He _wanted_ to tell her. He _wanted_ his feelings for her to be known because he was proud of them. He was proud to love someone as magnificent as Sansa Stark.

 

But he knew he couldn’t do it alone. He wanted the moment to be perfect. But who knew Sansa well enough to tell him how to do it well?

 

Queen Lyanna? No. Jon shook that thought quickly from his mind. His mother would just gush about it endlessly and would probably blurt it out to Sansa before he could even have the chance to talk to her. He ruled his father out too, that would be too uncomfortable and awkward.

 

Septa Mordane? He would rather join the Night’s Watch than ask his betrothed’s Septa for advice.

 

He turned to the library. If all else failed him, maybe there was something in the books and scrolls that could tell him how to court a lady. He fumbled through the pieces of paper and was surprised to suddenly hear the strumming of a harp.

 

For a moment, he thought it was Sansa and that he had been caught. But the harp playing was too complex. Sansa was an excellent harp player, but this didn’t seem like the type of song she would play. She loved playing lively, happy songs. This song was melancholy and tense.

 

He followed the sound and was surprised to see Domeric Bolton sitting by the window and playing.

 

Domeric Bolton was Sansa’s harp teacher.

 

The young lord was one of the many noble scholars his father had invited to live in King’s Landing once he had taken the throne. Along with him were Tyrion Lannister, Oberyn Martell, and for a while, Willas Tyrell. They were also beginning to train future scholars like Samwell Tarly, and maybe someday Shireen Baratheon or Bran Stark.

 

Domeric and Sansa were close friends—was it because they were both Northerners thrust into a world South of the Neck? It didn’t matter. Jon knew that if he wanted help with Sansa, Domeric would be the person to ask.

 

Did he mind telling Domeric about his feelings? Yes, but for Sansa, he’d do anything.

 

“Young Prince, what brings you here this time of day?” Domeric hummed as he strummed a few tunes.

 

“Lord Domeric.” Jon grumbled, shifting his feet and looking at the ground. Domeric seemed to sense the youth’s unease, so he put down his harp and turned to Jon.

 

“What can I do for you, your grace?” Domeric asked, sitting by a table. Jon took a seat in front of him.

 

“I…erm…I need your help.” Jon sighed. Domeric nodded—Jon often sought the advice of scholars like him when he came across a problem with his duties as a crown prince. In fact, solving the crisis of the fire in the east had been a brainchild of his and Tyrion Lannister’s.

 

“What about? Is there another food shortage we need to prepare for?” Domeric teased. The Prince was always so serious—he needed to lighten up.

 

“No…no, nothing of that sort…I was wondering if you could help me with…my betrothed.” Jon practically mumbled under his breath but Domeric caught the message.

 

He was not expecting that. He doubted there was trouble between them—the way Sansa talked about him was amusing to listen to. He suspected that the reason why she had been playing summery tunes recently was because of her blossoming affections for the prince.

 

“Sansa? What’s the matter?” He gently asked. Jon flushed, and Domeric tilted his head to look at him curiously.

 

“I need to tell her…that is, I have…I was wondering if you could…how…I love her, you see…” Jon muttered. If Domeric weren’t a good listener, he couldn’t have understood any of that.

 

“You love her?” Domeric wasn’t surprised. Hell, he believed Sansa was also falling for the prince. Jon nodded, looking down. Domeric smiled.

 

“That is wonderful.” Domeric soothed. Jon sighed.

 

“How do I tell her?” Jon asked.

 

Domeric realized what Jon was asking. The Prince could just as easily have told Sansa his feelings anytime, anywhere, but Jon wanted it to be perfect because he did truly _love_ her. He smirked at how humble this prince was, actually asking another person for advice on matters of the heart.

 

“You know, the Lady Sansa wouldn’t care _how_ you told her. That’s one of the things I suspect made you fall for her.” Domeric said. Jon nodded.

 

“I know, but she deserves the best. I…I don’t want her to feel pressured…I’ve only known her a few moons. But if I don’t tell her…no, I have to tell her.” Jon insisted.

 

Domeric stood up and walked over to the window, motioning for Jon to follow. They looked out to the view of the Godswood.

 

“You know, it is said that the North never really converted to the Faith. Most of us still keep to the Old Gods. I find myself going to the Godswood whenever I feel confused, or frustrated. I imagine Sansa does it as well?” Domeric turned to Jon.

 

“Yes. Sansa talks about the Godswood at Winterfell so much.” Jon said.

 

“There’s your location.” Domeric said, chuckling at Jon’s frustrated expression.

 

“I’ll tell her in the Godswood.” Jon murmured.

 

“When did you realize that you loved her?” Domeric asked.

 

“She was reading a letter from Robb. I always like it when she reads letters. She has a very animated voice, and a talent for storytelling. When she reads out loud, it’s…something else.” Jon said, smiling at the memory of Sansa reading.

 

“I agree.” Domeric said. “Prince Jon, I think I have an idea.”

 

Jon looked at Domeric’s twinkling eyes and he immediately put all of his trust into the Bolton heir. Sansa always spoke so highly of him, and he was starting to see why.

 

\--

 

Sansa prided herself in being able to read Jon very well; after all, it was her responsibility as his future lady wife to know his quirks and habits.

 

But lately, he had been acting strange. He was suddenly moody, and was always avoiding looking at her. He also started to pour himself more to his work—he was intentionally staying away from her. She came to the conclusion that he must have figured out her feelings for him and in his own, awkward way, was trying to tell her that he didn’t feel the same way.

 

The thought made her tear up, but she knew she had a duty to uphold, even if it meant living with a husband who didn’t feel the same away about her. So she went on with her usual routine, but no one could deny that some light had gone from her eyes.

 

Imagine her surprise when one day, after her harp lessons with Domeric, Jon came by to fetch her. His high spirits made her confused—why was he in such a good mood suddenly?

 

“Where are we going?” She asked.

 

“Godswood.” Was all he could say.

 

Why, after a week of ignoring her, did he suddenly want to be in her company? She thought it was unfair—if he didn’t love her, he shouldn’t be giving her too much hope. If they just carried on their separate lives, she could live with that, but this was too cruel. She didn’t want him to pretend to have feelings for her just so she could feel better.

 

Her paranoia got the better of her. Did he fall in love with someone else? Was he seeking to tell her about this other woman? Was he going to tell her in the Godswood to soften the blow, knowing it was one of her favorite places?

 

She didn’t have time to feel very offended because before she knew it, they were already in the Godswood. She took a deep breath and relished the fresh air, suddenly feeling homesick. The area was silent—there appeared to be no one else there. She looked at Jon, who was grinning ear to ear—a rare sight.

 

“Jon, what are we…” She trailed, but stopped when she saw him reach inside his pocket. He took out a sealed letter and led her to sit on a bench.

 

Wordlessly, he handed her the letter.

 

“What is this? Is this from Robb?” She asked, looking over the letter. The seal didn’t look like it was from Winterfell, and the paper was too clean and smooth to have made the travel from North to South.

 

“Read it.” Jon said, smiling.

 

“What? Why? I don’t know who this is from or who it’s for.” Sansa said, confused. She grumbled under her breath—if this was a love letter he was sending to a mystery woman, was he insulting her by letting her read it? Was it his way of telling her he would never love her?

 

“You always read the letters. Just…read it out loud…please…” Jon murmured, giving her hand a squeeze.

 

She would always acquiesce to the man she loved.

 

Gently, she pried the letter open and blinked. It was addressed to her?

 

“This is for me?” She asked, putting down the letter. Jon shrugged.

 

“Read it out loud.” Jon sighed. Sansa rolled her eyes.

 

“Dearest Sansa, there are things I must tell you, even if I do not have the courage to say them out loud. That is exactly why I can only write you this letter. Perhaps it’s also because you have a lovelier voice than I—maybe my words would sound better if they came from your mouth.” Sansa began. Jon smiled, motioning for her to continue.

 

“I cannot deny that our hearts are connected, even when I first met you they did. It wasn’t just because you gave me a piece of my Northern heritage that had been hidden from me all my life, but because you are my match in every way. You make up for the things I lack, and you bring out the best in me.” Sansa said, her eyes welling up in tears, but she fought them so that she could finish the letter.

 

She could not look at Jon, if she did, she’d bawl her eyes out.

 

“I will always feel that I am undeserving of you. I am, that is the truth. I thank the Gods that they gave you to me as my betrothed, to grow, to cherish, and to hope with. I know you miss your home so much, and even though I would do anything to make you happy, I am selfish. I want, no, I need you here with me, by my side.” Sansa continued. Tears were now falling from her eyes, but her voice never faltered.

 

“So remains the truth that I love you. I love you, Sansa. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I love you so much that I would stand at the top of the wall and shout it until my voice runs out. Even if you do not feel the same way, I will never regret loving you. My heart is yours, Sansa. Love, Jon.”

 

Sansa gulped. He loved her. She couldn’t see properly for tears were swimming down her eyes at an accelerated rate. She didn’t know how to react; she felt joy soar in her heart. He loved her! Her love for him was not unrequited. She looked at him, searching his eyes for any proof that this was a trick, but she found none—she found only sincerity, and hope that the love he gave would be sought and received.

 

“Sansa, I love you.” Jon breathed out, his warm eyes staring into her soul. “I know you may not feel the same—oomph!”

 

Jon was taken aback. Sansa had quickly leaned in and pressed her lips against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as she gave him her first kiss. Jon embraced her shaking form, pulling her warm body fiercely against his own. It didn’t matter that she didn’t say it back—all that mattered was the sparks he felt during this kiss, and he would go through hell just to have a taste of her lips.

 

Some of her tears had pressed against his face, and his cheeks were now damp too. He suddenly realized that tears had escaped his eyes as well.

 

Sansa broke away from the kiss, but her lips lingered near his.

 

“Jon…” Sansa sighed, her warm breath feathering over his face. “I love you too. I only realized it during our dance…but I love you. I am yours.”

 

It was the one thing Jon wanted to hear. He looked deep into her eyes, fresh with tears like his own. He leaned in and peppered kisses all over her damp cheeks, nose, and lips. She giggled against his touch, sighing heavily.

 

He lost count as they murmured more ‘I love you’s’ to each other, sitting easily in the Godswood close to each other. It didn’t matter that someone might come and stroll—they didn’t care. They’d marry each other in front of the Old Gods right this instant if one courtier sought to make a fuss about their propriety.

 

Jon was shaken out of his thoughts by Sansa’s chuckle.

 

“Jon…all this time…I thought you were avoiding me because you didn’t like me or because you’ve fallen in love with someone else.” Sansa giggled. Jon was appalled at the thought.

 

“Never, sweetling. My heart is yours, forever.” Jon murmured, kissing her on the forehead.

 

“You’re just so perfect…the letter, and the Godswood…” Sansa sighed.

 

“I had some help. Domeric…” Jon shrugged, silently thanking the Bolton heir. He would express his gratitude personally later, for now he wanted to cherish this magnificent moment with his betrothed.

“Oh…no wonder he was being all smiley during our lessons. Usually he plays such sad tunes but even he was playing happy music this afternoon.” Sansa sighed.

 

Suddenly, a thought came to Sansa, causing her to playfully frown at Jon.

 

“What?” Jon asked, tucking a stray red curl into Sansa’s ear.

 

“I’m a bit sad I didn’t get to say I love you first.” Sansa said, folding the letter and holding it close to her heart. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just say it more, then. I love you.”

 

“It’s a contest I won’t lose, my love.” Jon murmured, cupping her cheek in his hand and giving her another kiss. He felt her smile against his lips.

 

Suddenly, a happy tune danced across their ears. They looked up, easily finding the source of the music. Domeric was sitting by the window in the library with his harp in hand. His eyes were closed, and his head tilted towards the warm heavens.

 

Together, Jon and Sansa walked hand in hand back to the castle, giggling and humming to the tune of Domeric’s music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes for clarification: 
> 
> Rhaegar prized learning, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he liked to surround himself with smart people. He and Domeric loved to play the harp, I imagine they were best friends growing up and they forced Aerys and Roose to attend their recitals. 
> 
> I tried to make the letter sound as Jon as possible. I hope I did it well enough. 
> 
> So next, I think I'm going to do their wedding (that's gonna have some Arya/Gendry undertones for all you fans out there) and after that, maybe a bonding moment between Lyanna and Sansa? What do you think? I'm having way too much fun in this universe!
> 
> Don't forget to leave comments or kudos! You know they give me life.


	4. Reasons to Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The appearance of handsome male nobles for their wedding creates feelings of jealousy for Jon. The result? Kissing and an argument. 
> 
> Featuring a hot possessive Jon and some bonding between Sansa and Lyanna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all the people hoping for a wedding chapter, I’m sorry. I’ve decided this story is going to be chapters on moments during their courtship and the days leading up to the wedding. I want to flesh out the unmarried Jon/Sansa dynamic in this world. The wedding will be in a separate fic. 
> 
> This chapter contains some Lyanna-Sansa love. 
> 
> I also wanted to explore a more possessive side to Jon, so this chapter will feature some heat over his jealousy. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think!

Jon had never thought of himself as an obsessive person. Who had time to obsess over something when one was the heir to the Seven Kingdoms? But as his wedding day drew nearer, he realized that he had been displaying symptoms of a deep obsession.

 

The object of this obsession? His betrothed, the Lady Sansa Stark.

 

He and Sansa had been fortunate enough to enjoy a smooth, worry-free courtship, and their relationship was made even stronger after they had both confessed their love to each other. They were beloved by each other’s families—Rhaenys had begun to treat Sansa more civilly, though Jon suspected this had something to do with a certain female direwolf cornering the Princess one afternoon last week. They were also beloved by the people—especially Sansa who seemed to inspire poems and songs in taverns from King’s Landing through the Kingsroad.

 

No, even though he loved Sansa with all his heart, and she claimed to love him in return, he never thought he could become _obsessed_ with her.

 

It started with the return of his uncle Viserys. Jon loved his uncle dearly and looked up to him, but he had never wanted to throttle another man until said uncle decided to _flirt_ with his betrothed in front of him. Jon knew this was all done in jest, Viserys was very playful and liked to tease, owing to the fact that he had no responsibilities and was free to do as he pleased. But all the same, the moment Viserys’s lips touched Sansa’s hand after their dance, Jon concluded that the only man whose lips would ever touch any part of Sansa’s skin ever again would be his.

 

At that point, Jon had been jealous, but not yet obsessed.

 

No, the obsession began with the arrival of the other nobles. It was then that Jon began to see what kind of effect the magnificent Sansa Stark had on other people—especially men.

During the better chunk of their courtship, they had never been surrounded by many nobles their age for anyone to inspire even a hint of jealousy. Lords often visited with their sires, but they were only few and in between. It was this new surplus of men—noble men, handsome men, knights in shining armor, that had Jon fuming.

 

Jon would never doubt his betrothed’s faithfulness. There was too much Stark honor in her veins and love in her heart to be able to do that. But still, she was too polite and too kind to ever refuse a dance or a chat. Jon found himself wishing she would just be rude sometimes.

 

All these men stared in awe at her as she walked through the halls. She effortlessly charmed them all. They thought she was a Goddess, with her tall stature, flaming red hair and porcelain skin—she was the picture of Westerosi grace. Men like Quentyn Martell, Garlan Tyrell or Harrold Hardyng would flatter her with endless compliments, and she received them all with demure thanks.

 

She claimed they were just being friendly because she was a future Queen. She did not know how _desirable_ she actually was.

 

Jon felt a sense of pride—Sansa was his and nothing could change that. They could stare all they liked, but they would never have her.

 

He never saw any of them as competition, only annoyances.

 

Not until Joffrey Lannister.

 

Joffrey was Tyrion Lannister’s firstborn with the Lady Tysha (though people suspected he was Jaime Lannister’s bastard with a lady from Tarth, from before the knight was taken into the Kingsguard). Joffrey was a nice enough lord: tall and lanky with a handsome face and fair hair. He was also unfailingly polite and charming.

 

Joffrey, like all the other men, flattered Sansa, but for some reason, Jon was irrational in his dislike for him.

 

It all started when Joffrey was being fitted for his armor—there was to be a tourney to celebrate the wedding. Sansa took one look at him and her eyes had shone—Jon saw it, he was there. With his fair hair and shining armor, Joffrey looked like a hero from one of those songs Sansa loved so much.

 

He was like a golden knight taken straight from the chivalrous stories of Highgarden. Jon knew that when Sansa was a girl, she imagined being rescued like a damsel by a knight in shining armor who would sing to her of his true love. Well, Sansa knew that Jon did not have anything even remotely close to a singing voice—Jon’s voice was deep and gruff compared to the smooth tenor Joffrey possessed.

 

Jon was silent and brooding, always so serious as Sansa liked to tease—whereas Joffrey was a smooth talker, always smiling, and always the center of dinner table conversation with his easy wit and humorous nature.

 

Jealously reared its ugly head.

 

During the night of yet another feast, Jon finally had enough. _Of course_ Joffrey was an amazing dancer—he was able to twirl and turn Sansa around with such enviable grace.

 

At the end of the song Jon quickly and hastily pulled his betrothed away—the gesture was bordering on rude but Joffrey, much to Jon’s chagrin, was nothing but polite. He practically dragged and half-carried Sansa to one of their secret spots in the library and kissed her hard until they were both out of breath.

 

Up until then, their kisses had been slow and chaste, with Jon’s hand never venturing further than Sansa’s back, hair and waist. But as he pressed her lithe body back against a wall, he greedily let his hands roam to squeeze at her arms, waist, and the soft juncture between her shoulder and neck. Their tongues danced in a fit of passion as Sansa’s fingers in turn tightened on Jon’s hair.

 

Heat coursed through Jon’s veins as he touched Sansa everywhere he could. Sansa’s skin was soft under his hands, surely his fingers would leave marks but at the moment, neither of them could care. The spark between them was lit, and there was no stopping it from exploding.

 

Jon couldn’t resist trailing wet kisses down to her neck as Sansa started to moan and mew breathlessly. The sound egged Jon on, but suddenly, the memory of Joffrey Lannister twirling her in a dance suddenly came back to him. Fueled with jealousy, frustration, and so much _want_ for Sansa, without thinking, Jon feathered his lips over the juncture between her neck and shoulder and gave her soft skin a hard _bite._

 

“OW! JON!”

 

Suddenly, he felt himself being pushed back and he stumbled. He immediately came to his senses and his eyes widened.

 

_You bastard! Dishonorable! You are no worthy Prince!_

He started shaking, ready to kneel and beg for forgiveness from his betrothed. He saw Sansa flushed—her cheeks red and her lips swollen. He expected to see her angry and frowning, but instead she had a smirk on her lips while her fingers covered the mark his teeth had left.

 

“Next time, if you mean to be playful, maybe a little warning?” Sansa teased, shaking her head.

 

Jon was confused. Wasn’t she supposed to be railing at him, kicking him—running to her father to demand that she be let go from a marriage with a brute like him?

“Sansa…I’m sorry…please forgive me…I only…no, there was no excuse for my actions. Please…don’t…don’t leave me…I swear I won’t ever touch you again…” Jon spluttered, his face paling with nervousness.

 

He had committed an egregious sin. His father, uncle, _Robb and Arya_ trusted him to treat her with honor and respect and what had he done to that trust? He stomped on it the moment he decided to pounce and paw his hands at her like a madman. He felt ashamed. He felt unworthy.

 

All because of an irrational jealousy.

 

Sansa seemed to sense the anguish he was going through, so she put her hands on his shoulder. He immediately backed away from her like her hands were on fire. Sansa rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

 

“Jon, don’t be so dramatic. We’re betrothed…we’re getting married in a few days. It’s normal for us to want to _be_ with each other.” Sansa huffed. She slowly untied her hair and braided it over her shoulder to cover the mark Jon had given her.

 

“But we are not married yet.” Jon insisted. “I had no right to touch you like that!”

 

“Technically, you’ve had every right to touch me in whatever way you liked ever since I flowered…or have you not read our betrothal contract?” Sansa resisted the urge to giggle. Jon looked at her, appalled.

 

“But…no…you...you know I wouldn’t do that!” He cried, insulted that she would even suggest such a thing.

 

“I know you wouldn’t, and that’s why I love you.” She gently said, putting her hand on his cheek. He flinched away from her touch, ashamed. “Besides, we’ve kissed before.”

 

“That was different. Those were just kisses between a prince and his lady. What I did tonight, it was not right. I apologize.” Jon grumbled, looking down. Sansa rolled her eyes.

 

Truth be told, Sansa just wanted Jon to get over himself and start kissing her again like _that_ because now that he had introduced her to such strange, pleasurable sensations, she wanted, no, _needed_ more.

 

“If it wasn’t right, then why did you do it?” Sansa asked, cocking an eyebrow. Jon’s head snapped up to look at her, but he quickly looked away, ashamed. “Well?”

 

“I was…Joffrey…I just…you…him…” He spluttered, frowning. He was surprised when Sansa started laughing.

 

“Jon…were you _jealous_?” She disbelievingly asked. She could not help but smile. Jon was just so _adorable_ sometimes.

 

The very thought that Jon would be jealous of another was ridiculous to Sansa. She was his; there would be no other for her other than her beloved. Surely he knew that?

 

Sansa sighed as looked at him, frowning when she realized how serious he was.

 

“Jon, do you know how ridiculous that is?” Sansa crossed her arms.

 

“Is it? He dances well, probably sings well too, and when he put on his stupid armor all the women were just gawking at his blonde hair and golden helmet…argh!” Jon exclaimed. Sansa’s jaw slackened.

 

“That is no reason to be jealous!” Sansa indignantly said. She was starting to get angry at his line of thought. How dare he presume that she would even _think_ of being with another man other than him, let alone Joffrey Lannister?

 

“He does all the things you love…I can’t dance or sing! He looked ready to begin a quest to rescue some damsel in a tower…what’s to stop you from leaving me once you realize he’s the lord from those songs you love?” Jon frustratedly cried out.

 

“So that’s why you kissed me and…did that thing with your teeth? Because you wanted to brand me and stake your claim, like I’m some property?” Sansa was furious. Her cheeks started to redden and her fists clenched.

 

How dare Jon kiss her for any reason other than love?

 

“What? No…that’s not why…I just…” Jon spluttered. His hands started shaking.

 

How was he to tell her that no matter her love for him, she would always be the object of some other pretty lord’s affection? That she could not stop him from ever feeling jealous because that’s how much he treasured her? That as devoted to him as she was, men were, and always will be, drawn to her like moths to a flame?

 

It was never about seeing her as property. It was never about staking a claim. It was about him proving to himself that only _he_ could kiss her, that no matter how much Joffrey Lannister twirled her around, _he_ would be the only one for her because he held her heart.

 

Jon suddenly wished he had the nerve to say all of his thoughts out loud, but all he did was stutter—stutter at the face of the furious beauty standing in front of him with her teeth clenched in anger.

 

Sansa could not take any more of his spluttering.

 

She quickly stepped towards him and claimed his lips in a kiss. For a moment, Jon forgot his outburst. She broke the kiss and took a few steps back. He looked at her helplessly.

 

“Prince Jon Targaryen, _you know nothing._ ” She seethed. Jon looked at her—her pupils were dilated, her fists clenched, and nostrils flared. She was so beautiful when angry.

 

Before he could respond, she had walked out of the library.

 

\--

The morning after, Sansa was still angry with Jon, but she decided that she would be the bigger person and approach him so that they could talk it out. Thankfully, Arya hadn’t commented on her fuming last night when she came to bed. Of course, her sister had been occupied by other things recently, such as hiding out from a certain dark haired Baratheon heir.

 

She was about to leave when a knock sounded on her door.

 

_“Jon”_ , she thought, feeling excited. Maybe that’s why they were meant to be together, because they were so in touch with each other’s feelings.

 

She put on a mask on nonchalance—he wasn’t getting away that easy. Slowly, she opened the door.

 

Her mask of nonchalance fell when she saw that it was Queen Lyanna.

 

_“Did Jon mention…”_ Sansa’s thoughts trailed but she shrugged them off, she knew Jon wouldn’t talk to anyone about any problems they were experiencing—least of all to his mother.

 

“Aunt Lyanna!” Sansa exclaimed, dropping into a curtsy. The Queen chuckled at her.

 

“Not whom you were expecting?” The Queen teased. Sansa blushed.

 

“It’s always a pleasure, your grace.” She murmured. Lyanna rolled her eyes and took Sansa’s hand in her own.

 

“I wanted to break fast with you, just the two of us. With the wedding and all the visitors, we’ve hardly had enough time to chat.” Queen Lyanna trilled. Sansa grimaced.

 

Queen Lyanna asking to talk to her the morning after she and Jon had a row? Too much of a coincidence, Sansa decided.

 

“That would be lovely, your grace.” Sansa said, throwing the Queen her best smile. If the Queen wanted to prod at her and Jon’s relationship, Sansa knew she would be able to deflect all questions effectively.

 

The Queen led her to a secluded part of the gardens, by a greenhouse. There was a small table set up for two under a large red tent. There was all sorts of food at the table. Sansa gratefully took her seat, and the Queen motioned for her to start eating.

 

“This is my favorite part of the garden, did you know that?” The Queen asked before she sipped some juice.

 

“No, I didn’t.” Sansa said, looking around. “Why?”

 

“The greenhouse reminds me of the Glass Gardens back home. I don’t know if your father ever told you, but your grandfather often reprimanded me because I liked picking flowers to the point that I’d leave some pots bare.” Queen Lyanna chuckled at the memory.

 

Sansa smiled, closing her eyes as she pictured the Glass Gardens of Winterfell. She loved to pick flowers too, but she never stayed long inside the Glass Gardens—she found the whole place too beautifully intimidating. She’d bring them out to the Godswood where her father would often polish Ice and she’d sit by his feet and make crowns out of the flowers and twine.  

 

Arya would then scratch at her when she’d try to force those crowns on her head.

 

“You miss it so much, don’t you?” Lyanna gently asked. Sansa nodded, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

 

“Oh, darling niece. I was like you once—a fierce northern girl sent south to marry. Only I was marrying a widowed king, and not a prince.” Queen Lyanna shook her head.

 

“But you loved the King even before you married him.” Sansa sighed. She heard the story lots of times. There was a tourney, and the Prince Rhaegar, who was still mourning the death of his wife and son, was melancholy. It was the Lady Lyanna who managed to make him smile for the first time ever since the tragedy.

 

“Yes. When he asked me to marry him, I refused at first, did you know that?” Queen Lyanna grinned. Sansa gasped, shaking her head.

 

“Why?” Sansa, who grew up listening to the songs, could not fathom why her aunt would refuse marriage to her beloved—a prince, nonetheless!

 

“When winter roses are sent south, they either wither or bloom. I knew that. But eventually, I realized that Rhaegar’s love for me keeps me from wilting, just as Jon’s will do to you.” Queen Lyanna sighed. Sansa nodded.

 

She knew that without Jon’s love for her, she would die of loneliness and neglect in the capital.

 

Just then, a pair of giggles distracted them. They looked to see that it was Myrcella Baratheon with Trystane Martell. They were walking, and Trystane seemed to be making jokes that had Myrcella clutching her stomach in laughter. The young Dornish prince seemed enamored by her. When they turned to go into the hedge maze, Queen Lyanna began to laugh.

 

“I swear to the Gods, these old lords are using your wedding to pair their children off! We’ll be seeing betrothals and courtships come alive in the next few moons after you’ve wed.” Queen Lyanna giggled, fanning herself with a feathered fan. Sansa nodded eagerly in agreement.

 

“I’ve counted four couples—well, five now. Arya and Gendry—though she swears there’s nothing going on, Viserys and Margaery, Arianne and Domeric, and I think I even saw Daenerys give my brother her favor for the tourney.” Sansa sniggered, and she and her aunt shared a laugh.

 

She missed this. Her aunt was one of her best friends here in court, and they often gossiped together whenever they found the time. She expected her aunt to not like her at first—mothers in law tended to be hard on their son’s brides, but The Queen took to her immediately.

 

“So you didn’t hear about Joffrey Lannister and the Sand Snake?” The Queen asked in a hushed tone.

 

Sansa gasped.

 

“No! Which one?” She pressed. The Queen grinned.

 

“The blonde one…Tyene. I saw him steal a kiss from her a few days ago near this very same spot.” The Queen nodded.

 

“Really? And she fancies him as well?” She asked, leaning in.

 

“She would’ve poisoned Joffrey by now if she didn’t.” The Queen rolled her eyes. Sansa laughed.

 

Sansa’s eyes widened. _Jon is such an idiot_ , she thought. Joffrey had never been interested in her—he was really just being nice. Suddenly, her fury for Jon multiplied—he just really assumed the _worst_ in people. Sansa’s lips thinned and her eyes narrowed.

 

“What is it?” The Queen asked. Sansa shook her head.

 

“Huh…erm…nothing. I just remembered…Joffrey danced with me last night.” Sansa murmured. Lyanna chuckled.

 

“Oh? Is that why my son has been brooding all morning?” Lyanna offhandedly said. Sansa frowned.

 

“Brooding?” Sansa scoffed. Lyanna sighed.

 

“Dearest niece, I know you both well enough to see that there’s something wrong. Now, come, tell me.” Lyanna said.

 

Sansa stayed silent. She did not want to invite her aunt into the intimate details of her life with Jon. She certainly did not have the guts to explain to her what transpired last night.

 

“It’s nothing…just a disagreement.” Sansa shook her head. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

Lyanna was unconvinced.

 

“Really? Then why was he praying fervently in the Godswood at dawn? And why, all of a sudden, did he demand to see your betrothal contract?” Lyanna teased.

 

Sansa felt all color rush to her cheeks. _He did not,_ she thought furiously to herself.

 

“He what?” Sansa asked through gritted teeth.

 

“I don’t know what it is with that boy. He’s so serious—he got none of that from Rhaegar or I. He’s been grumbling to himself all morning, he only does that when he’s angry with himself.” Lyanna said, sighing.

 

“Your grace, I don’t really feel comfortable…” Sansa trailed off. Lyanna waved her off with a hand.

 

“Don’t worry, Sansa, I won’t pry. You and Jon will fix it, I’m sure. My son always fights for what he loves.” Lyanna said, her eyes twinkling.

 

“I hope so.” Sansa sighed.

 

“Come.” Lyanna said, standing up. “I’ll take you back to your chambers.”

 

As Lyanna led her back inside the keep, Sansa began to think of why Jon would want a copy of their betrothal contract. Was he looking for a way to get out of marrying her? Did he think she was damaged goods after what had transpired last night? No, she shook her head, Jon wouldn’t be that cruel.

 

But if he was currently angry with himself as Lyanna theorized, then maybe he was looking for a way to justify his actions? Sansa did mention to him last night that he had all rights to touch her. The thought made Sansa miffed—what Jon did still wasn’t right and if he was looking for technicalities to prove to himself that he wasn’t at fault, then Sansa would get very, very angry.

 

Sansa enjoyed kissing him and being held by him the way he did last night, but she hated that he did it because he was jealous. Shouldn’t all their kisses be borne out of love?

 

Before she knew it, they had arrived back to her chamber. When she opened it, however, she was stunned.

 

There was a large, ornate mirror in the middle of the room. It was bordered by dark wood, and encrusted with all kinds of colorful jewels at the side. It was beautiful—quite possibly the most extravagant thing she had ever seen. It even had Lyanna gasping.

 

Her jaw dropped.

 

But then, she seethed.

 

“Sansa…this is beautiful.” Lyanna murmured, touching one of the large rubies encrusted at the side. The mirror was full length, and stood half around a foot taller than Sansa.

 

“And I know just who it’s from.” Sansa grumbled under her breath.

 

How dare he try to bribe her forgiveness with such a pretty gift? Why couldn’t he just _talk_ to her? Why was he resorting to cheap tricks like this? It was so unlike him. _You know nothing, Jon Targaryen,_ she firmly stated in her mind.

 

“Oh my…now I really want to know what he did…” Lyanna mischievously said, winking at Sansa. Sansa closed her eyes and held her fingers to her temple.

 

“One time, right before Jon was born, I was experiencing severe mood swings. Rhaegar and I had the worst row—I think we kept the castle awake all night. The morning after, there was a chest full of new dresses in my chambers.” Lyanna rolled her eyes.

 

Sansa nodded, but kept her eyes closed. She could feel her cheeks reddening in anger. Suddenly, she felt a soft hand cup her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw Lyanna smiling.

 

“I’d say it’s time to give him a piece of your mind? You don’t want to get married angry.” Lyanna teased. Sansa nodded, feeling determined.

 

“He’s at his father’s solar. Good luck.” Lyanna trilled, exiting the room.

 

With new resolve, Sansa took a look in the mirror and smiled.

 

\--

 

“Have Oberyn draw up plans for a new lighthouse in Blackwater Bay. The old one has been overrun by—“ Rhaegar passed parchment after parchment to his heir and Jon only nodded, taking them dutifully. They were interrupted by three loud, resolute knocks on the solar.

 

“Who is it?” Rhaegar called. There was a scuffle from behind the door as the guards possibly tried to reason with whoever had knocked. Suddenly, the door burst open to reveal an enraged Sansa Stark.

 

“We’re sorry, your graces, we tried to stop the Princess.” One guard profusely apologized.

 

Rhaegar took in Sansa’s furious appearance and shrugged sheepishly at his son. Sansa had her arms crossed in front of her chest. It was the one time Rhaegar had ever seen the lady forego all social graces.

 

“I think it didn’t work, son.” Rhaegar murmured. Jon grumbled angrily as Rhaegar took his parchments and made his way to the door. “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed. Good luck.” With an encouraging smile, Rhaegar exited and slammed the door behind him.

 

With Rhaegar gone, Jon was free to look at his beautiful bride, who looked like she wanted to murder him.

“A mirror. Really, your grace?” Sansa calmly stated. Jon paled and clutched at his tunic.

 

“Did you think you could buy my forgiveness, Prince Jon?” Sansa cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

 

Jon took a deep breath. He needed to make this right.

 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Jon finally said. Sansa’s eyes softened.

 

“That’s right. You weren’t.” She said, still clearly miffed. “Now what’s this about you reading our contract? Are you looking for a way out of our marriage?”

 

Jon looked up, horrified at the suggestion. _How did she even know?_ The answer came quickly—his mother.

 

“What? No!” He indignantly said.

 

“Or maybe you wanted to justify your actions last night? After all, if the contract says you did nothing wrong, then you did nothing wrong.” Sansa pressed.

 

“Sansa, that’s not what it was about!” Jon exclaimed.

 

“Then what was it about?” She demanded.

 

“I…” Jon began.

 

“I’m waiting.” Sansa tapped her foot impatiently.

 

“When…last night, you mentioned it…I realized I haven’t even read it…I missed you so much, and I hated that you were angry with me…” Jon spluttered. Sansa narrowed her eyes.

 

“So why didn’t you just sleep clutching the handkerchief I stitched for you?” Sansa scoffed. Jon blushed.

 

“It’s…that contract…it’s the most important piece of paper in our relationship…I just…I hated that I haven’t read it when it’s the reason…we’re together.” Jon finally said, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

 

“So instead of apologizing for your actions last night, you decide to read our contract?” Sansa nodded, confused at her beloved’s line of thought.

 

“Sansa, I _am_ sorry about last night. I had no right to touch you like that. It was disrespectful, and I understand if…” Jon trailed off.

 

“If what? I leave? Jon, I’m not angry because you kissed me and touched me like that. I’m angry because you did it out of jealousy, not out of love!” Sansa cried out. “You weren’t kissing me, you were _marking_ me!”

 

Jon realized his mistake. He didn’t know Sansa had perceived his actions like that.

 

“I didn’t do all that because I was jealous.” He ground out. “I kissed you _like that_ because even if you danced with a hundred other men, I would be the only one to kiss you like that.”

 

Sansa relaxed her shoulders. Jon took this as his cue to continue.

 

“Besides, if it was about staking a claim, I would’ve done that in the middle of the dance floor for all to see.” Jon finished. Sansa rolled her eyes at that.

 

“Sansa…you have to understand…I’m obsessed with you, with your love, your smile, and your happiness. You’re mine…” He whispered. Sansa smiled, her anger floating away.

 

“You’re mine too, Jon.” She said.

 

With that, Jon took the few strides that separated them from each other but before he could reach her, she stopped him with a hand.

 

“The mirror?” Sansa asked. Jon sighed helplessly.

 

“Father suggested it. He must’ve realized that we were fighting so he offered unsolicited advice. I’m sorry. I should have known better than to resort to gifts.” Jon shrugged.

 

“All is forgiven.” Sansa said. She reached out to embrace him tightly, and he eagerly returned it.

 

“May I kiss you now, sweetling?” Jon asked. Sansa smirked at him.

 

“What about Joffrey?” She teased.

 

“Screw him.” Jon grumbled. Sansa gasped and slapped Jon on the chest.

 

“Jon!” She admonished. Jon sniggered, and was about to lean in when the sound of laughter interrupted them.

 

It came from outside the solar’s window, which had a view of the eastern corridors. Jon gasped when they saw Joffrey and Tyene Sand running and abruptly stop, catching their breath. Tyene was pressed up against a post, and Joffrey gracefully leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss, which she eagerly returned.

 

Sansa turned to see Jon’s jaw drop. She tutted at Jon and he looked sheepishly at her.

 

“Apparently, it’s been going on for a few days.” Sansa smirked. Jon looked down guiltily.

 

“Sorry.” Jon said. Sansa laughed.

 

“You know nothing, Jon Targaryen.” She whispered into his ear.

 

Sansa was right, but Jon didn’t care. All that mattered was that he knew how much he loved her, and how it felt to have her in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes to clarify things: 
> 
> Yes, in any possible alternate universe, Joffrey will still present a problem. 
> 
> I wanted the Lyanna/Rhaegar story to be less creepy than the one in canon. 
> 
> Of course, these two are hormonal, good-looking youngsters in love. They won’t be able to keep their hands off each other until the wedding. 
> 
> Next chapter will be the tourney. Then I think I might jump back in time to another pre- I love you moment between Sansa and Jon. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think! Leave comments or kudos.


	5. The Tourney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa didn't really want to be Queen of Love and Beauty. All that mattered was that she would be Jon's Queen. 
> 
> So why shouldn't Arya get to wear a crown as well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait, life got in the way. As promised, here's a chapter with the wedding tourney. This has some strong Gendry/Arya in it, and I hope you enjoy it!

Sansa had always been fascinated by heraldry.

 

The idea that a person’s origin, his ideals, and the abilities he encapsulates could be put together on one single picture to be flown on a banner had her smitten. Growing up, she always imagined what her golden knight’s banner would look like. Would it have a pretty color—she hoped it would, she had seen crests on picture books that had very ugly colors that clashed together. Would it have an animal, or a plant, or a mountain perhaps? The ideas trilled on and on in her head as she dreamed of being crowned Queen of Love and Beauty.

 

So it was a surprise to no one when she appeared to be the most excited for her wedding tourney. Her father managed to negotiate with King Rhaegar that the Starks would cover all expenses—after all, the King and Queen had so far waved off Northern gold for the wedding. She didn’t really care about how much the prize was or how many competitions would take place; she really just wanted to see all the colors.

 

Little Rickon had managed to worm his way into being Prince Viserys’ squire—owing to the fact that Robb and Jon already had theirs. It was the perfect arrangement to appease her little brother. Viserys did not deny that he had little interest in the tourney so the task wouldn’t be too daunting for the little wolf. Bran, like any other boy, wanted to see the knights—but his interests were more on their histories and quests rather than the pageantry of a tourney.

 

King's Landing was abuzz with excitement as young lords here and there strove to get the best armor, the best horses—and of course, the prettiest favors from the prettiest ladies.

 

Sansa had been working on Jon’s favor for quite some time. It was a black ribbon, merely two inches thick delicately embroidered with red dragons with their tails wrapped protectively around large white wolves. She worked day and night to make sure the wolf resembled lady as much as possible.

 

Stitching also gave her time to think about her wedding. The tourney would take place for about a week, and the wedding would follow a few days after just in time for everyone to get rested. In a week’s time, she would be saying goodbye to _Lady_ _Sansa Stark_ and begin her life as _Princess Sansa Targaryen._ The thought made her sad, but also excited and hopeful. She was beginning a new life with a man she loved—truly; she was blessed by the Gods.

 

Truthfully, she really didn’t care if Jon won the tourney or not. She was confident in his abilities, yes, but in less than a fortnight he would be giving her a crown of gold and a cloak of crimson and black. Yes, she could do without a crown of winter roses atop her head.

 

Jon had been careful with her for the past few days leading up to the tourney. He knew that the transition to married life would be more difficult for her. It was easy to lose oneself in King’s Landing, and he hoped that she wouldn’t change much. The pressures were hard on a princess—more so a future queen. Jon was resolute; he wouldn’t allow the court to pressure his Sansa.

 

They never really discussed the marriage bed and having children, but they both knew that these would be inevitable. Truth be told, Jon couldn't wait to be with Sansa as a lover and as the mother of his children, but he would never touch her intimately unless he had her explicit consent. Even if it took years, he decided. But as the wedding drew nearer, he seemed to be having more dreams of little red haired royals with violet eyes.

 

He shook those off. Sansa wasn't his to have yet. For now, he only hoped to win her a crown of roses as his Queen of Love and Beauty.

 

\--

“It’s beautiful…” Jon croaked. “Sansa, it’s exquisite. You made this?”

 

Jon held up the favor Sansa had given him. They were walking towards the jousting arena. There were tents in all sorts of colors to their left and right, lords and young knights milling about sharpening their swords, and of course, lively music being played for entertainment.

 

“Of course I did.” Sansa demurely said, blushing and looking down.

 

“It looks like Lady, really it does. How long did it take you?” Jon asked. Hearing her name, Lady gave a growl and trotted over to them. Even a year after meeting her, Jon still was a bit wary of the large direwolf that almost never left her lady’s side. True, lady was the sweetest of the litter and she clearly adored Jon, but she was still an imposing presence.

 

“Three days. I’m so glad you like it. I hope you win, Jon. I really do.” Sansa earnestly said as they approached Jon’s tent.

 

“With a favor like this, how could I not?” Jon murmured, kissing her hand. “Will I still be worthy of you if I don’t?”

 

“Jon, I don’t care if you lose the first round. I’m marrying you. I am yours, and you are mine.” Sansa beamed. Jon grinned and tucked a stray hair under her ear. Gods, how he wanted to kiss her, but there were too many people around. It wouldn’t be proper.

 

“Ser Loras is the odds-on favorite to win the jousting. Domeric would definitely dominate the races…” Jon muttered to himself as Sansa fastened the ribbon around his wrist.

 

“Prettiest armor?” Sansa teased. Jon stole a kiss to her cheek before chuckling.

 

“Joffrey Lannister’s armor is made of solid gold.” Jon joked, telling her about the silly rumor that had been going around for some time now. Sansa playfully slapped him on the chest. “Renly Baratheon’s has always been flashy. Have you seen Robb’s?”

 

“Yes. It’s nothing special, simple really. Father wanted it that way.” Sansa shrugged.

 

“I envy him. Yesterday father insisted on putting rubies in mine. Needless to say I hid my armor, much to his disappointment.” Jon rolled his eyes. What use would he have of rubies in the tourney, anyway? He was thankful that he never got his father’s penchant for shininess and pageantry. While King Rhaegar wore the ostentatious look well with his smooth silvery hair and lean stature, Jon had inherited northern ruggedness about him—and that did not go well with rubies.

 

“Oh, Jon, you know he just wants you to have the best.” Sansa smiled, giving Jon’s hand a comforting squeeze. Oh how she longed for the day when she could embrace him in public without fear of reproach.

 

“I already have the best, and she’s standing right in front of me.” Jon murmured, looking deep into her eyes.

 

Sansa blushed to her roots. Jon, for all his dramatic moments that was sometimes annoying, was really just a sweet fool who was in love with her. Which was perfect, because she was completely, irrevocably in love with him as well to the point that she would throw herself off a tower if he were lost to her.

She did have dramatic moments sometimes too.

 

 

Propriety be damned, she leaned in to reward his sweet words with a kiss when suddenly, a figure whooshed past her and caused her to lose her footing. Jon’s quick reflexes caught her by the waist, and he immediately righted her to stand up.

 

“Was that Nymeria?” Sansa imperiously asked, her mind running with scenarios as to what could have possibly caused the direwolf to run. Lady perked up and looked towards where her sister had run off.

 

“Yes.” Jon blinked, surprised. In his mind, he thanked Nymeria for giving him the opportunity to hold Sansa even just for a while. Out of all the Stark direwolves, it was Nymeria he feared the most—he gulped, remembering how Arya had threatened to have Nymeria eat him if he ever hurt Sansa. The wolf was as wild and unpredictable as Arya herself.

 

“What’s she up to?”

 

“Her mistress’s bidding, I presume.” Sansa said through gritted teeth. Jon could feel conflict rising so he instinctively took a step back. “Excuse me, Jon. Arya’s up to mischief, and I have to find out what it is.”

 

Jon smiled and allowed Sansa to walk past him. She flashed him a playful wink before walking resolutely to Robb’s tent.

 

Sansa fumed in her mind. Whatever Arya was up to, she knew it was no good. Her sister had been grumbling for days about not being able to participate in the tourney, and Sansa feared she would do something reckless like dress as a man and join under a false name. She quickened her steps.

 

“Robb, where’s Arya?” She demanded, pushing aside the flaps of Robb’s tent. Bran was sitting idly at the side reading a book while Robb fitted his armor.

 

“Probably already at the stands with mother and father.” Robb distractedly said. “Why?

 

“I just saw Nymeria dashing off somewhere.” Sansa offhandedly said. Robb looked at her, frowning.

 

“I smell trouble.” Robb chuckled. Sansa rolled her eyes.

 

“This is my wedding tourney. I don’t want Arya ruining it with her bouts of rebelliousness.” Sansa stubbornly said.

 

“Relax. Arya loves you. She knows how special this tourney is. Check the stands, I’m sure she’s there. Take Bran with you.” Robb said, ordering them about like the big brother he was.

 

“Fine.” Sansa grumbled. “Wait, whose favor is that?”

 

Sansa spied a silver ribbon wrapped around his brother’s wrist. Robb turned red, turning away from Sansa.

 

“None of you business! Now go!” Robb defensively said. Sansa rolled her eyes.

 

“Come, Bran. Robb’s being all secretive so let’s leave him alone.” Sansa huffed.

 

Bran dutifully closed his book and hopped off his seat. As they walked towards the stands, he talked on and on about how tourneys came to be and the most famous knights that had participated in them. Sansa listened, amused as her brother animatedly talked about the subject. It was heartwarming to see him so knowledgeable—he would surely make a great scholar someday.

 

“Mother’s uncle Ser Brynden the Blackfish also won…oh there’s Arya!” Bran exclaimed, pointing to the left. “See? Robb was right.”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes—it was adorable how all four of them idolized Robb, he was the perfect older brother. True enough; Arya was sitting on the stands craning her neck looking for something while her mother and father talked with Lady Roslin Tully and Princess Danaerys. Sansa held Bran’s hand as they walked towards them. They were at the higher seats reserved for the royal family and the guests of honor.

 

She greeted her parents, and gave Lady Roslin and Princess Danaerys kisses on the cheeks. Bran immediately engaged them all in a discussion about the tourney, leaving Sansa to deal with Arya. Her sister had distanced herself a bit and was nervously looking around.

 

“I saw Nymeria by the tents.” Sansa primly said, sitting down beside Arya and making sure they were out of earshot. “Care to tell me why your wolf is running around scaring people?”

 

Arya seemed distracted, so Sansa repeated the question.

 

“Arya!” Arya shook slightly and faced her.

 

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I sent her to look for something.” Arya nervously said, twiddling with her thumbs.

 

“What?” Sansa suspiciously asked. Arya turned away abashedly. 

 

“Don’t worry, it has nothing to do with you.” Arya scrunched her nose in annoyance.

 

“It’s my wedding tourney—all of this has to do with me.” Sansa pointedly said, gesturing her arms about. Arya stubbornly stayed silent. “Arya…”

 

“It’s nothing, I swear.” Arya assured her. Sansa didn’t buy it.

 

“I promise I won’t tell. Besides, this seems to be bothering you. What is it?” Sansa whispered. Arya weighed her options—she knew Sansa wouldn’t let this go so she relented and looked around to make sure no one was listening.

 

"You promise to tell no one?” Arya warned.

 

“On my honor as a future princess.” Sansa trilled. Arya sighed exasperatedly, rolling her eyes.

 

“Fine. I’m looking for…” Arya whispered. “Gendry.”

 

“Who?” Sansa didn’t hear a word, for Arya had said it in such a soft voice.

 

“Gendry Baratheon.” Arya said through gritted teeth. It took all of Sansa’ self control not to giggle.

 

“Oh, Arya. I knew you’d warm up to him.” Sansa triumphantly said. "I'm so happy for you!" Arya growled.

 

“It’s not like that!” Arya insisted. Sansa grinned at her. “It isn’t! It’s just…I haven’t seen him all day. He’s usually hanging around near me.”

 

“And you miss him?” Sansa teased. Arya turned red and made to stand up, but Sansa pulled her to sit back down. “Come on, tell me.”

 

“I don’t miss him, that’s ridiculous.” Arya insisted. “It’s suspicious, that’s all. Especially since…never mind.”

 

“Oh don’t give me that.” Sansa said. “What is it?” It took some more coaxing, but Arya opened up.

 

“Well, yesterday he was bothering me…again…” Arya said, annoyed. Sansa didn’t buy it. “I was cleaning Nymeria’s fur near the stream and he went to me and asked me about the tourney.”

 

“And?” Sansa began to get nervous. Did Arya ask Nymeria to dismember him?

 

“I told him I wanted to enter, but I couldn’t because I was a girl which is a stupid rule by the way!” Arya huffed. “Anyway, he said his father put him on the list, but he wasn’t really interested. He said he wasn’t going to enter. We were joking around…”

 

“Wait, you were joking around?” Sansa grinned. Arya blushed and turned away.

 

“Just…I had no one else to talk to…besides I couldn’t be rude to him forever it was getting exhausting. Anyway, Nymeria and I were about to leave when he jested that I should give him my favor. I threw him the rag I used to clean Nymeria.”

 

Sansa groaned. “Oh, Arya, you didn’t.”

 

“What? It was a joke! I don’t have a favor.” Arya muttered.

 

“Well, what if it wasn’t a joke to him?” Sansa asked. Arya groaned.

 

“Ugh! I haven’t seen him all day. I looked for him in the forge, in the tents, nothing. What if he’s bloody entered the damn tourney?”

 

“So? He’s entitled to do so. He _is_ of noble blood, the heir to Storm’s End if you haven’t forgotten.” Sansa rolled her eyes.

 

“What if he wins?”

 

Sansa was befuddled by her sister’s line of thought. Wasn’t that great news?

 

“I don’t know, wealthy champions usually give their winnings to the poor?” Sansa tried. Arya sighed in exasperation.

 

“Think! What happens if a knight wins a tourney?” Arya impatiently asked.

 

“He gets the money, and he can crown a Queen of Love and…oh…” Sansa lips split into the widest grin.

 

Sansa began sniggering. Arya looked at her pleadingly.

 

“No, no, don’t smile. Don’t anything, okay? Just pray to the Gods he doesn’t win! Pray that Jon wins, or Robb. _Anyone._ ” Arya growled.

 

“Oh come on, Arya.” Sansa rolled her eyes. This was getting tedious and out of hand. Why couldn’t Arya just admit that she liked Gendry? It was so obvious!

 

“I tried to feign sick earlier. Lord and Lady Stark did not buy it.” Arya grumbled, narrowing her eyes at their parents.

 

“Arya, there are _hundreds_ participating. The people are betting on Ser Loras, Ser Jaime, and all the other lords. It’s going to be a difficult road for Gendry, I mean no offense of course, I'm sure he's quite capable.” Sansa shrugged, trying to appease her sister. 

 

“I guess so. But if he wins, I am running. I’m serious, Sansa. I don’t care. I love you and I want you to have the best wedding, but I am running.”

\--

 

Sansa did her best to make sure she and Arya were seated in the middle of the high stands so that it would be difficult for her sister to pull anything because they were surrounded by a lot of people—royals nonetheless.

 

True enough, Gendry was a participant, much to Lord Robert’s pride and Arya’s annoyance. Out in the field, kept trying to catch Arya’s eye, but she was as evasive as ever. Sansa was getting tired of her sister's denial, to be honest. It was adorable at first, but it had been going on for far too long. 

 

She looked at the lists again and saw the names of all the well-trained knights. At first, Sansa thought her sister’s feelings were unfounded—surely Jon and Robb and even Garlan were better than Gendry. He spent all his time in the forge, for Gods’ sakes, not the training yard!

 

But Sansa had forgotten one thing: Gendry Baratheon was a blacksmith—a talented one at that.

 

Rumor was that he had personally forged all his weapons and armor so that they fit him and his abilities _perfectly_ —even going so far as to enhance them. The crevices of the metals catered specifically to his exact form. The hilt of his sword was crafted to match the width of his hand. His nose was slightly crooked, so his helmet curved slightly to provide him ample breathing room. He had something no other knight had: armor as a second skin.

 

And sure enough, wrapped around his wrist was a piece of fabric torn from the familiar blue rag that Arya used to clean Nymeria.

 

“Don’t worry, Arya. People are betting on Ser Loras and Ser Jaime.” Arya mocked in a singsong voice, mimicking Sansa’s statement from before. Gendry had just won another melee and was now in fifth place to win the whole tourney.

 

“Well, they are. Look who’s on the top of the list?” Sansa stubbornly said.

 

It was already the last day; Ser Loras was at the top, next to Domeric, then Jaime, Jon, and finally, Gendry. Robb belonged in the top ten as well, along with Quentyn Martell. Joffrey Lannister had been eliminated earlier on, just before Viserys Targaryen and Garlan Tyrell.

 

While Arya grumbled, Sansa cheered on happily as Jon competed. He was an excellent fighter; Sansa had seen that as the days of the tourney passed. However, it wasn’t long until Domeric bested him in the joust—the scholarly lord from the Dreadfort had impressed everyone with his famed horsemanship. Jon gracefully accepted defeat with a smile and a hearty shake of hands.

 

To everyone’s surprise, he trotted his horse over to Sansa and blew her a kiss.

 

“My apologies, _Lady Sansa_ , I cannot give you a crown of flowers, but it will be my cloak and a crown of gold upon your head in a few days time.” Jon declared, producing a large white rose from a pocket slung on his horse and handing it to her. Sansa blushed and demurely accepted it. This caused loud cheers and hoots. Ladies swooned, and lords clapped heartily.

 

Rhaegar looked so proud of his boy, but Sansa suspected it was less because of the good fight he put up and more because he realized that Jon had inherited his flair for dramatics after all.

 

Arya gripped Sansa’s hand tight when it was announced that Ser Loras and Gendry would be fighting for the championship. Lord Robert was boastful of his son’s achievement—apparently no one knew that the young lord had it in him.

 

He and Mace Tyrell famously announced the wager on their sons. If Loras won, Mace Tyrell would send over a bountiful feast to Storm’s End. If Gendry won, Robert would do the same and send a feast to Highgarden. This inspired more wagers with their lords and vassals. Sansa smiled, it was good to see these old lords participating spiritedly—and it was all in the name of good fun, there was no mean motive at all.

 

The last joust began, and Ser Loras was truly magnificent. With his golden hair and spritely appearance, the odds were in his favor. He gracefully held on to the lance as if it was nothing. Gendry, however, was not to be outshined. While he lacked Loras’ chivalric appearance, he had an innocence and youth to his movements that kept the older knight on his toes.

 

Loras’ grand armor ended up being his undoing. After many rounds, he was beginning to get weighed down by the heavy metal. Gendry, however, had armor that knew his body well. With a powerful tip of the lance, Gendry successfully unseated the famed knight from Highgarden.

 

The cheers were loud and deafening. Sansa, with Jon by her side, jumped and clapped, shouting to cheer for Gendry. The young lord looked so surprised by his victory that he froze for a few moments. It wasn’t until Loras reached up to congratulate him and shake his hand that he shook out of his reverie. He and Loras parting on good terms with generous smiles.

 

Sansa was too caught up with all the hoots, cheers, and colors flying around that she did not notice Arya slowly edging herself towards the exit. She tugged on Jon’s sleeve, imploring him to stop Arya. But there were so many people that it was difficult to move around. Jon tried to look for a way to get to the younger lady, but to no avail. 

 

However, Arya wasn’t fast enough.

 

Soon, Gendry was handed a crown of blue winter roses and he trotted his horse up to the royal stand. The people began to quiet down as they fretted about who Gendry would choose as his queen. Ladies began pushing themselves forward, and Arya began pushing people aside to make her escape. Just as was she was about to duck under a nearby tent, Gendry called out.

 

“Lady Arya Stark!” Gendry shouted. “I thank you for your favor, My Queen of Love and Beauty!”

 

Arya froze in her tracks.

 

“Uh oh.” Sansa murmured. Her mother had her eyes narrowed at Arya in warning, in a _don’t you dare do something embarrassing_ way.

 

“She’s gonna run…” Sansa nervously said. Jon whistled nervously, curious as to how this would all turn out. The whole field was silent.

 

Custom dictated for Arya to receive the flowers and ride on Gendry’s horse behind him. But Sansa knew Arya, and she knew that this would not end well. She bit her lip, seeing Lady Cersei at the corner of her eye looking like she would pounce on Arya if her son were embarrassed. Lord Robert was grinning, his hand clapped on Lord Eddard’s shoulder.

 

Arya turned around to smile at Gendry. Sansa sighed in relief, but her suspicions had not abated. They all watched as Arya went over to Gendry and received the flowers. She unceremoniously plopped it on her head. Gendry offered his hand and helped her into the horse with the assistance of his squire, his little brother Tommen.

 

Cheers erupted again as Arya sat on the saddle behind Gendry. Sansa locked eyes with Arya and waved her arms, gesturing them to tell Arya to wrap her arms around Gendry’s waist so that they could ride. Arya nodded.

 

“I really thought she would…” Jon started, but they were interrupted by a loud shout and a thump. Sansa’s jaw slackened.

 

Arya had pushed Gendry off the horse and had ridden off to the distance by herself.

 

Laughter erupted all around. Sansa was mortified, frozen. Her mother was fuming, and looked like she was going to faint. Cersei was outraged. Her father was apologizing to Lord Robert, who in turn was doubling up in laughter. Indeed, no one laughed louder than the champion’s father.

 

Gendry, however, had helped himself up. He had a lopsided grin on his face as he stared in the direction that Arya had ridden off, as if he was expecting something like this.

 

As everyone walked to leave, Sansa tugged on Jon. They approached Gendry, who was being congratulated by everyone.

 

“I’ll talk to her. She’ll dance with you at the feast tonight.” Sansa promised.

 

“It’s alright, Lady Sansa.” Gendry waved her off, shrugging. “Your sister’s a wolf, I know that. But it would be sweet to have a dance with her.”

 

As Jon and Sansa walked back to the Red Keep, Sansa fingered the material of the favor she had given Jon. It was still wrapped securely around his thick wrist.

 

“Congratulations.” Sansa sweetly said. Jon kissed her on the temple, uncaring that there were other people around.

 

“You wouldn’t have pushed me off the horse, right?” Jon teased. Sansa blushed.

 

“Never, my love.” Sansa said. Jon smiled triumphantly.

 

“Gendry may have won the tourney, but I have the greatest prize in Westeros.” Jon murmured, holding her as close as he could without it being improper.

 

“Are you saying I’m a prize to be won, Jon Targaryen?” Sansa teased, narrowing her eyes. Jon immediately doubled back.

 

“No…no…Sansa, that’s now…you’re not a…” He stammered. Sansa put her hand on his cheek and smiled.

 

“I jest, love.” She softly said. Jon sighed and put his hand over hers.

 

“I can’t wait to marry you, Sansa.” Jon said. “I want to marry you.”

 

“Just a few more days, love. Surely you can wait?”

 

“I’ll wait as long as you want me to, my lady.” Jon promised. “I’m sorry for being impatient, I just can’t wait to get our lives started.”

 

“Our life together has already started.” Sansa rolled her eyes. “Unless, you just want to bed me and be done with it.”

 

“Sansa.” Jon warningly said. She laughed, surprised as the little Robert Arryn ran past them being chased by Shireen Baratheon and Rickon.

 

“I want to name one of our boys Aegon.” Sansa said, smiling nostalgically at the little ones. Jon shrugged.

 

“I want Brandon.” Jon said. “I also want five boys and five girls.”

 

Sansa looked horrified. She gave Jon’s arm a playful pinch.

 

“The only way that’s going to happen is if half of them are Blackfyres.” Sansa scoffed. Jon frowned, and his eyes widened when he realized her implication.

 

“What? Where did you? I don’t…Sansa, I will _never_ dishonor you.” Jon adamantly said, horrified at the thought. He was about to wax poetic about his enduring devotion to her when she offhandedly smiled and waved him aside.

 

“I know, I jest, my prince. But I will not be birthing ten children, Jon Targaryen.” Sansa warned, winking.

 

 _“We’ll see.”_ Jon thought, a smile on his face as he escorted his bride to the Keep.

 

\--

 

By the time the evening feast came around, Jon was thoroughly impressed by Sansa’s miracle work. Lo and behold, Arya was _actually_ wearing the crown of winter roses on her head. Her dark hair was braided prettily; identical to the plait Sansa wore. Jon couldn’t imagine how Sansa managed to get the little wolf down to have her hair done.

 

However, Arya was clothed in a plain tunic and breeches.

 

When Jon questioned Sansa about it, she gave him a look that said, _don’t get me started._ Lady Catelyn tried to drag Arya away to change clothes, but Sansa appeased her mother saying that this was the best they were going to get.

 

Lady Cersei looked mortified. Lord Robert couldn’t care less; he was well within his cups already, his loud voice boasting his heir’s prowess. Queen Lyanna looked immensely proud of her niece, while King Rhaegar commented that a different colored tunic would have complimented Arya’s Stark coloring better. Jon chose to roll his eyes at that.

 

Gendry, however, looked at her like she was dressed head to toe in gold—his true Queen of Love and Beauty. His eyes brightened when he asked her to dance, and although she had deliberately stepped on his toes a couple of times, there was no mistaking the joy in both of them. Gendry was no fine dancer himself, so they ended up making a mess of the movements. They couldn’t care less—they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company immensely.

 

Jon snuck a look at Sansa as she bit into a piece of lemon cake. She was staring at Gendry and Arya, enamored by her sister’s newfound joy. Jon’s heart warmed at the love in her eyes, and he stopped to think about how Sansa would look at their future children. Seeing how much Sansa loved her siblings made Jon believe that their children would be the most beloved.  

 

Powdered sugar stuck to the edge of her lips and Jon instinctively reached out his thumb to wipe it away. Sansa looked at him in surprise, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Did you love the fluff? Please comment and leave kudos!


	6. Intimidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the weeks leading up to Sansa's arrival in King's Landing, Uncle Ned writes a letter to Jon about Sansa. Aunt Lyanna writes a letter to Sansa about Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a fic with Jon and Sansa's first impressions, and they formed these before they even met each other. I hope you guys enjoy this! Don't forget the comments and Kudos!

_Prince Jon Targaryen,_

_My most honorable nephew, it is with great pleasure that I write you this letter. Although I have not seen you since you were but a babe, your mother and father have written to me that you are as kind and as dutiful as any Northman and prince. Though you have not yet set foot in your mother’s homeland (something I insist we remedy), and though you may bear a dragon’s name, I know the blood of the North runs in you and I am proud to call you my kin and my future goodson._

_As of my writing this letter, my daughter Sansa, your cousin and betrothed, is about to leave Winterfell to join you in King’s Landing. She will be accompanied by your uncle Benjen, a retinue of ladies and guards, and her faithful direwolf aptly called Lady. Do not fear, Lady is the kindest and gentlest of the litter, much like her mistress. I will miss my eldest daughter terribly, but your father was explicit in his order to have Sansa in the capital as soon as possible. I am only the King’s good servant._

_I pray to the Gods that you are as good and fair as the reports say, for my wife and I wish nothing but the best for our sweet girl. Sansa is the red wolf of Winterfell, the grace of the Stark family, and the kindest and gentlest lady you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. Her siblings love her fiercely, and the whole household is devastated to see her go because her smiles warm even the coldest winters. Even though she is every bit the Southern princess with her courtesies and love for songs, make no mistake that there is Stark steel coursing through her veins. She keeps to the Old Gods, so if I may be bold as to make a request that you show her the Godswood in King’s Landing when she arrives so that she can find comfort in a new environment. I’m sure your mother has told you of the expansive Godswood in Winterfell. I have seen the one in the Red Keep and I apologize for this, but it does not compare; so be prepared to see a hint of disappointment in my Sansa’s eyes._

_I also implore you to be patient with your cousin and betrothed. She was born and raised in the North and even though we are part of the Seven Kingdoms, we still hold our own unique traditions and morals. Make no mistake, she will adjust gracefully to life in the South, but it will take a while. My little wolf is proud to be of the North, and she will cling onto trinkets of her life here when she feels homesick, so I ask that you help her transition and show her that she can have a home in King’s Landing and in you._

_My darling Sansa was born to be queen, Jon. You will see this when you meet her. Apart from being a great beauty, she is resourceful, charitable, and selfless. If you love her and take care of her, she will be a faithful and excellent partner that you can come to rely on when the time comes for you to take the throne._

_I look forward to the day I see you again, my beloved nephew. I wish you and Sansa a fine life and a faithful partnership that will sire virtuous children and a just rule. Keep each other safe, for Winter is Coming._

_Your uncle,_

_Eddard Stark_

_Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North_

“My, my…” Daenerys whispered, peering at the letter in Jon’s hands. She grinned. “I like her already.”

 

Jon froze as he read the contents of the letter over and over again. Already he was nervous about meeting his betrothed, but this letter from his uncle Ned just made his blood run cold. He couldn’t find words to say, so he just continued to grit his teeth and keep himself from shaking.

 

“You know none of those are lies, right?” Dany smiled teasingly, biting into a piece of fruit as she watched her nephew slowly gather his wits. “If there’s one thing we’re sure of in this world, it’s that Starks are too honorable to be dishonest.”

 

Jon was still silent, and Dany was starting to get annoyed. She knew Jon was excited to finally meet the woman he had been promised to—to finally have a piece of the North that he was cruelly denied in King’s Landing. Dany in turn was practically bouncing up and down in anticipation for another lady to join them in the Red Keep. If Sansa was a fierce wolf, then Dany was a spirited dragon—she was sure they would get along just fine.

 

Of course, any other lady would be a finer companion than her niece Rhaenys. With her brother Viserys busy in Dragonstone and Queen Lyanna and King Rhaegar occupied with ruling Westeros, Dany frequently sought Jon out whenever he wasn’t busy with his duties. They had a lot in common—they both loved sword fighting and riding, but Dany still yearned for female company.

 

“Hello, Jon?” Dany huffed, waving a hand in front of his face. Jon shook from his reverie and looked at her with a grim face. “What’s wrong? She sounds lovely!”

 

“Lovely…” Jon choked, trying to keep from crumpling the paper. “Dany, she sounds _fantastic_!”

 

“I know…I read the letter. Plus, doesn’t the Queen keep correspondence with Lord Stark? I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve heard of the Lady Sansa’s fine qualities.” Dany said, gulping down a glass of water.

 

“Oh yes, but they were never as elaborate as this. I’ve heard she was good, kind, and beautiful—but of course my mother would say that, after all she would want me to like the Lady Sansa!” Jon hissed, frowning.

 

“And I am sure she’s likeable. Why are you acting as if this is a problem?” Dany asked, amused. Her nephew could be so dramatic sometimes.

 

“In a few weeks I am supposed to meet her. What could someone like _me_ even _say_ to her? I’m going to look like an idiot! She’ll be expecting and deserving of a perfect prince! What is she going to think when she sees that all she’ll get is _me_?” Jon frustratedly said.

 

Dany’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

 

“Jon, you’re selling yourself short here!” Dany cried, aghast that her nephew would think this way. “She will love you and admire you for the righteous and capable prince that you are!”

 

“Righteous and capable…” He scoffed. “Dany, we both know I lack my father’s grace and confidence, and I don’t have my mother’s liveliness and spirit. Viserys said so himself—I’m always so serious and brooding. A lady like this deserves…I don’t know…someone with a harp…and golden armor.”

 

Dany put her hand over her mouth to keep from chuckling.

 

“If you ask Rhaegar, he’d be happy to give you harp lessons and have golden armor made for you seeing as he’s frustrated that you didn’t inherit his love for finery.” Dany grinned. “Besides, you shouldn’t take anything Viserys says seriously. He’s lived his whole life as the second son—he doesn’t have any responsibilities aside from travelling and entertaining foreign guests in Dragonstone. You on the other hand are a crown prince.”

 

“You and I both know I will never touch a harp for as long as I live.” Jon seriously said. “And I will throw myself off a tower before I don golden armor.”

 

“Don’t overreact.” Dany huffed, exasperated. “Jon, I’m going to ask you again, what is your problem?”

 

“I…I won’t ever be the prince she deserves. If she were just like other ladies, kind and courteous and simple, then maybe I could have a chance. But this lady…” He sighed. “I will only dull her shine.”

 

Dany’s lips turned down in sadness. She knew Jon was a commendable prince—a worthy successor to Rhaegar in all aspects. But because he believed so much that he was so unlike his father, whom he idolized severely, then he took that to mean that he would not be just as good a King.

 

“Jon, just because you’re not exactly like Rhaegar doesn’t mean you won’t be a good king, it only means you’ll be a different king.” She carefully said. “And believe it or not, you _are_ like him. You love fiercely, you care for your people, and you appreciate everything and everyone good around you.”

 

Jon stayed silent, unconvinced.

 

“A man like you doesn’t deserve a simple, boring wife. You deserve someone who will challenge you, look out for you, and stand by you…” Dany smiled. “And right now, I can’t think of anyone else in Westeros that can be that except for Sansa Stark! And I haven’t even met the girl, I’ve just heard stories.”

 

“Stories?” Jon asked curiously, narrowing his eyes. Dany chuckled.

 

“If you only deigned to listen, there is a thriving gossip scene between young lords and ladies from the great houses. For example, Arianne Martell is blatantly pursuing Domeric Bolton—that story is funny as hell but I’ll get to that later, Gendry Baratheon practically lives in the forge of Storm’s End, Joffrey Lannister’s hair is more golden than the gold of the Lannister mines, you will _not_ believe what people are saying about Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell…”

 

“Get to the point Dany…” Jon drawled out. Dany ignored his tone.

“And Sansa Stark goes to Winter Town every fortnight to donate clothes and food to the orphanage.”

 

Jon stared at her, flabbergasted.

 

“Great, even the orphans love her.” He grumbled.

 

“That’s what they say…” Dany said in a singsong voice. She beamed at her nephew, but of course he failed to see the humor in the situation.

 

“Who is this ‘they’, what is this network of news and why am I not a part of it?” Jon indignantly asked. “I should like to know what’s going on with the heirs of the great houses—after all, I will be ruling Westeros with them!”

 

“You’re really as dramatic as Rhaegar.” Dany rolled her eyes. “Anyway, the point is, I’ve only heard good things about the lady Sansa Stark.”

 

“Great, just great.” Jon grumbled, putting his head in his hands.

 

“I still can’t see why you think this is a bad thing.” Dany frowned.

 

“Are you joking? I can only imagine what in Seven Hells she’s heard about me!” Jon groaned.

 

“Well, she hasn’t yet run off to the Free Cities so whatever she’s heard it can’t be that bad.” Dany teased, laughing lightly.

 

“This isn’t funny.” Jon narrowed his eyes.

 

“You’re right, it’s getting annoying. Jon, I suggest you get your head out of your ass and realize how much of a catch you are. Then, you will present yourself to Lady Sansa as a Prince every inch worthy of her hand—because that’s what you are.” Dany confidently said.

 

Jon looked at her miserably. He stood up and folded the letter in his hands.

 

“I need some time alone.” He murmured, nodding his head at Dany and exiting the room.

 

Dany sighed exasperatedly. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if Jon were really this insecure and intimidated. No matter, Sansa Stark wouldn’t be here for a few weeks more, and in that time, she would endeavor to help Jon see that he was ready and deserving for a true princess to finally be beside him.

 

She rolled her eyes and grinned knowingly.

 

Beneath all the nerves and complication, Dany could see something else linger in her nephew’s eyes. She couldn’t miss the look of admiration he had tried to mask with his fear and intimidation. She knew that deep in his heart, Jon was excited to meet this woman whom his uncle spoke highly of. She was sure he would treat her well, and if she was anything like the whispers said she was, then Dany could already see Jon following her around with moon eyes like a puppy dog.

 

By the Gods, this girl would easily enrapture him. Already it was obvious that Jon felt an attraction to this girl he’d never met, or else he wouldn’t be experiencing that moment of self-doubt.

 

He was always so somber and brooding, yes, but Jon was also a romantic at heart.

 

“Jon Targaryen, you are going to fall in love with this lady in a heartbeat.” She whispered as she took another bite of fruit.

 

She could only hope that Lady Sansa Stark would be able to handle her nephew’s fervent passion.

 

\--

 

_My darling niece,_

_Words cannot express how excited I am to see you. Your father writes me how he thinks you’re very well suited for court life, and I have been hearing a lot of good reports about you as well. I cannot wait to meet you, dear niece. I can’t wait to listen to stories from my home, and see for myself how fine my brother turned out to be as a parent. I also can’t wait to meet a real direwolf—I still can’t believe one was found for you and each of your siblings! It is a sign, dear niece, that the Gods have blessed our family._

_I bid you to think on my next words pensively. You are about to embark on a journey that will change your life. I ask you to be strong, my dear—you will need all the strength you can gather to be able to survive in King’s Landing. I say this because I see myself in you—once upon a time I was also a wolf of Winterfell riding south to be a Queen. The road ahead will be filled with obstacles, and I wish I could give you more words of reassurance, but the life of a princess and queen is filled with endless challenges. I am confident, however, that you will be able to overcome them using that famous Northern grace and ferocity._

_Your cousin Jon anticipates your arrival earnestly, though between us I feel my son is a bit nervous to meet his betrothed. Jon resembles your father and your uncle Benjen so much—his looks are Northern to the bone but he is a Southern prince at heart. He is a good man, Sansa. Your father and my husband would never have brokered this engagement had we thought for even a moment that you were not compatible. Yes, even when you were still nine summers old and Jon eleven, we already knew how much you’d complement each other._

_Rhaegar and I are so proud of our son, Sansa, but I fear that sometimes he doubts himself too much. Maybe it’s because he feels that his late older brother Aegon would have been a better prince had the Gods given him the chance to live. I know in my heart that you can help Jon feel more confident and sure of himself. He is kind, and brave, and gentle, and you will have such an easy time loving him. I know for a fact that the moment he sees you and gets to know you, he will adore you to the ends of the world—if he doesn’t already._

_I must commend you, dear niece, for embracing this new adventure of yours with open arms. You and Jon will encounter hurdle after hurdle, but I know that once you open yourselves up to this new life and trust in each other, you will successfully barrel through them with heads held high. Remember the words of your mother’s house, dear: Family, Duty, Honor._

_Oh, and I ask that you never call me your majesty or Queen. I am your aunt, and I demand to be addressed as such._

_Yours truly,_

_Aunt Lyanna_

“Lyanna certainly has gotten more articulate since last I saw her.” Benjen chuckled as his niece finished reading the letter out loud. They received it in Winterfell just in time—a day before Sansa was set to leave for King’s Landing.

 

They were inside a carriage trotting down the Kingsroad, just the two of them. Sansa’s lady companions were in another one, and their belongings were in a secure cart; there were guards on horseback surrounding them making sure they were safe—King Rhaegar had generously sent over a group of royal soldiers to accompany the Lady Sansa to King’s Landing. Their party made an interesting sight: men with Stark colors on one side, and men with Targaryen colors on the other.

 

Sansa bit her lip, feeling confused and unsure. She suddenly became aware of the rocks the wheels tumbled over, and the mountains that would eventually give way to the rolling seas of White Harbor. There they would board a ship to take them to Blackwater bay—a ship that King Rhaegar generously provided even though her father had insisted that they use one of the Stark ships.

 

Of course, the King won the argument.

 

For the past few months she had been very excited to ride South and see all the pomp and finery that was always missing in the North. She was preoccupied by the business of packing her belongings, appeasing and placating her siblings who were damn close to tying her up and hiding her in a shed so that she’d stay in Winterfell forever (Arya’s idea, which Robb thoroughly supported, and Bran and Rickon were just too happy to be included in on whatever activities their older siblings had planned), and saying goodbye to her friends in Winterfell and in Winter Town.

 

She was also too engaged with preparing herself for a life without her parents. Her mother and father had raised her well, and she had come to depend on them for many things. They insisted that she was ready to become independent, but she was still their little angel and she would miss them terribly.

 

With all these things happening at the same time, she never actually got the chance to contemplate what her betrothed would be like, and what kind of life she could expect to lead with him.

 

Of course, her father told her that Jon was an excellent prince, and she was proud to have such a cousin matched to her. She heard whispers that Jon looked like her father, and had hair like Arya. She didn’t really have any expectations—only that the prince be kind and hopefully did not have the madness of some of his ancestors. But now, reading the words her aunt had written made her feel intimidated.

 

She knew that there were high expectations for a future queen, and she was well educated enough to be able to hold her own. She knew her histories, her heraldry, her laws, and her courtesies. She figured she’d have no trouble adjusting to life in the south, seeing as she’s always dreamed of going there.

 

Sansa then realized that it wouldn’t be enough to just ‘hold her own’, she’d have to be able to keep up with such a meritorious and capable prince. How was she to do that? She was just a Northern lady of sixteen on her first trip to King’s Landing! She wasn’t even on the ship yet and already she felt sick.

 

“What’s wrong, niece?” Her uncle asked, his face full of concern as he recognized the change in Sansa’s demeanor. Sansa gulped and looked outside, trying to stave off the dizziness. As trees and flowers whizzed by, she felt nauseated and she couldn’t take it anymore. She knocked loudly on the roof of the carriage, and it immediately halted.

 

She wordlessly stumbled out of the carriage and turned to walk back north, her strides big and resolute. She took quick breaths, and her heart felt like it was about to beat out of her chest. The rest of the riding party stopped and they all looked at her curiously. The guards were unsure of what was happening as they watched their charge walk aimlessly and turn pale.

 

She could hear her uncle Benjen speak in a muffled voice and there was the sound of a scuffle. Her uncle’s footsteps thumped as he ran to keep up with her. From the corner of her eye she could see him motion to the guards and other members of the retinue not to move. She continued to walk as if Winterfell was just a few feet away.

 

“Sansa!” She felt her uncle’s hand securely around her arm. He gently maneuvered her to face him and she ashamedly did, her face looking down and tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Benjen sighed and looked at her sympathetically.

 

“We’ll be taking a short rest! The ride has made Lady Sansa feel dizzy.”

 

At his words, the guards led the horses and carriages to the side of the road. Water and light food were passed around. The ladies emerged from the carriage to stretch their legs. Uncle Benjen, however, led her to the treeline until they were under the shade of a big oak tree.

 

“Sansa, what’s wrong?” Benjen asked, gently using a handkerchief to wipe the droplets of tears that had fallen on his niece’s cheeks.

 

“I…nothing…I am…I am sorry, uncle…how delayed we must be because of my foolishness…” She hastily said, gulping and turning to walk towards the carriage. Benjen grabbed her arm again and pulled her to stay.

 

“No, my dear. Something is the matter, and your father charged me to care for you during this trip. Please tell your uncle what it is so that we can fix it.” He said kindly.

 

Sansa took a deep breath, and she saw the sincerity in her uncle’s eyes so she nodded. She looked around, and when she was sure no one was looking, she turned to face him.

 

“It’s…the letter…Queen…I mean Aunt Lyanna…I mean, it’s…nothing…just, we really should just go…” She stammered. Benjen frowned.

 

“What about the letter?” He gently asked. “I thought you’d be happy to hear from your aunt.”

 

“I am!” She quickly insisted. “I am…I love my Aunt Lyanna.”

 

“Then what is the problem? Aren’t you glad they’re all ready to welcome you in King’s Landing?” He asked.

 

“I am excited…” She said as if it was a practiced speech, but her voice faltered. “I am excited to meet my betrothed and become a princess and serve the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

“Sansa…” Uncle Benjen warningly said.

 

“I’m really fine, uncle, please.” She pleaded.

 

“Was there something in the letter that made you unhappy?” He asked.

 

“No, uncle. The letter was lovely. It…It told me all about my betrothed, the prince.” She said before she could stop herself. She put her hand over her mouth and prayed her uncle wouldn’t pick up on it. Her prayers went unanswered.

 

“So that’s what this is about? You’re nervous about meeting Jon?”

 

There was no use beating around the bush. She could see her uncle wouldn’t let the matter rest until it was resolved, so she decided to be honest.

 

“Yes…of course I am, uncle, but I am also…I am scared.” She admitted.

 

“Scared?” Benjen couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Sansa, I’ve met your cousin. My nephew is as thoughtful and brave as Lyanna said. He will not hurt you, and cause you any unhappiness.”

 

“Uncle, he is a good prince. He does his duties well, and we are all lucky to have a sovereign like him.” Sansa said, again with a practiced tone.

 

“Then what is the problem? Your father promised you to a kind and honorable, if not occasionally solemn man. Aren’t you happy?”

 

“I am. I am happy and proud to be betrothed to him, but I fear that…” She faltered.

 

“You fear what?”

 

“I fear he is too good for me.” She mumbled. “I fear that I will not adjust to life in the South, I fear that I will fail everyone, I fear that I will not meet their expectations. There is much to be expected of a future queen and I am just…I am just scared.”

 

“Oh, Sansa, my beauty…” Uncle Benjen chuckled, drawing her into a gentle embrace. “Westeros is lucky to have a Northern Queen like your aunt. Two Northern Queens in a row? How did Westeros ever get to be so blessed by the Gods?

 

“Aunt Lyanna is a great Queen. How will I live up to that?” She sobbed. “Father…father told me Aunt Lyanna is striking and spirited and I…I am…I like to sew, and read books. I am not vibrant. How am I to compare?”

 

“You can not.” Uncle Benjen said. “Lyanna is different and she has her strengths, but you have your strengths too. You are clever, and you think about your words carefully. You manage to do good deeds without ever taking the glory for yourself. Most importantly, you are the most loving, most graceful girl I have ever met.”

 

Sansa shook her head.

 

“And who said you’re not vibrant?” Benjen thought the idea laughable. “You brighten up any room, Sansa.”

 

Sansa continued to sob, her heart warmed by her uncle’s kind words. They did little to assuage her fears, though. Benjen sighed and put his hands on his niece’s arms. Long ago, he would have needed to bend down to be able to look at her face to face, but she has grown so much taller.

 

“Sansa, no one is expecting you to be the perfect princess on your first day.” He said in his gentlest tone. “Lyanna did not become the queen she is overnight. She had to study, learn how to navigate court life, and push herself to fill Queen Elia’s shoes in her own way. Because you are resourceful and adaptable, you will have the easiest time learning the ropes, and your Aunt will help you, and no doubt your betrothed will be by your side every step of the way.”

 

Sansa gulped, feeling her strong emotions ebb away, giving room for rationality to return.

 

“I thank you for your kind words, uncle.” She smiled gently, wiping her tears. “I’m so happy you have such faith in me. I will do my best in King’s Landing, I promise.”

 

Benjen chuckled. Even in moments of vulnerability, Sansa still managed to remain the perfect lady without sacrificing sincerity and honesty.

 

“Can I tell you a secret, niece?” Benjen asked conspiratorially. Sansa’s smile bloomed and she nodded, her sadness slowly fading and turning to hope and optimistic.

 

“None of us ever thought Lyanna would be able to thrive in the South.” He shrugged. Sansa gasped, horrified.

 

“What?” Aunt Lyanna had always been an inspiration to her; it was difficult to imagine her as anyone other than who she was today.

 

“She was always so wild. She didn’t follow rules, and for a while she almost cost the North a relationship with the Stormlands. Let me tell you, the only reason she stuck it out was because of her love for Rhaegar, and eventually Jon.” Benjen grinned at the memories, wincing when he realized that at any moment during Lyanna’s brash actions, war could have been declared and the world would be a lot different.

 

“But…how is that supposed to comfort me? I don’t love Jon…” She cursed her blunt words. “I mean, I love him like any other subject would a sovereign and I am sure that one day we will find love like mother and father did, but right now…”

 

“I understand, dear niece, let me finish.” Benjen said. “Lyanna was never fit to be Queen, but you are. You don’t have the burning love or lust or whatever Lyanna had in her when she agreed to marry King Rhaegar hastily. You don’t need that motivation. Just the way you are right now, you are made to be a Queen.”

 

Sansa stayed silent.

 

“It was that feeling that made her change from being the little Wildling she was into the Queen she was destined to be.” Benjen said, nostalgia swimming in his eyes. “You, however, Sansa, you don’t need to change. You already have the qualities needed for a queen while Lyanna had to _earn_ those qualities. All you need now is to improve your prowess, and find love in Jon and your new home to sustain that fire in you.”

 

“And if I don’t find love in my future husband and future home?”

 

“Sansa, if there’s anything I’m sure of, is that you are capable of finding love anywhere.” Benjen smiled confidently. “The capital will love you. Jon will love you, and we northerners are famous for our fierce and enduring loves.”

 

“And you’re sure the prince will…will not be unkind…and he will try…to love…to love me?” Sansa blushed and looked down, unsure if she should be speaking to her uncle about matters like this. But she really was just like any other girl who dreamed of true love.

 

 _“I’ll be a good princess to him. I know I can love him. I want him to love me. I want to love him.”_ She thought to herself.

  

“He’d be a fool not to. You are so terribly easy to love.” Benjen winked.

 

Sansa sighed contentedly, and just then, Lady trotted over to her with wildflowers held between her teeth. The large wolf looked comical whining at her mistress, nudging her skirts and turning her head up. Sansa giggled and accepted her pet’s gift, rubbing Lady’s smooth fur affectionately.

 

“And when he sees the wedding gift you and your siblings have for him, he’ll worship the ground you walk on.” Benjen chuckled, referring to the white albino runt they almost missed when gathering the direwolves. He was as large and fearsome as his siblings, and frightening at times with his stealth.

 

“Thank you uncle. Again, I apologize for stopping our retinue. I will apologize to Lord Manderly for our delay when we get to White Harbor.” Sansa said, clutching the flowers in her hand.

 

“It is no matter. It is normal to be scared, Sansa, and I’m glad I was with you during your time of need. Now, are we ready to go?”

 

Uncle Benjen led her back to the carriage and signaled for the guards and ladies that they were going to be moving again. Sansa smiled with all the hope and faith she could gather. Uncle Benjen was right; she was born to be queen. She had a lot to learn, but she was a willing student.

 

She entered the carriage, and soon enough they were moving again. She looked out the window and immediately felt reassured when she saw Lady keeping pace with the carriage, occasionally looking up to the carriage window to make sure her mistress was still there.

 

In a moment of enthusiasm, Sansa stuck her head out of the window and faced South, loving the feel of the cool air in her cheeks, and inhaling the spicy scent of her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could really picture Jon and Sansa both being intimidated by the thought of each other. They're honestly two of GRRM's most overthinking characters, so it's only natural for their minds to wander and how one thought could quickly lead to another. 
> 
> Did you like it? 
> 
> Next chapter will be their meeting!


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